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R-C PICTURES CORPORATION 


PRESENTS 

“THE BISHOP OF THE OZARKS” 

Story by 

Milford W. Howard 

Adapted and Directed by 
Finis Fox 

Photographed by 
Sol Polito 

A Finis Fox Production 

Released thru Film Booking Offices of America, Inc. 


CAST 

Roger Chapman \ 

Tom Sullivan / 

Margy Chapman.; • • ; 

Dr. Earl Godfrey.! . *'. , 

Dr. Paul Burroughs.. 5 v ! 

Governor of Alabama. 

Shepherd Woman. 

Mrs. Jack Armstead. 

Mart Stoneman. 

Simon. 


Milford W. Howard 

. .. . Derelys Perdue 

.Cecil Holland 

. . . William Kenton 
. . . . R. D. MacLean 
. .Mrs. Milo Adams 

.Josa Melville 

.Fred Kelsey 

.George Reed 














CONTENTS 

Chapter Page 

I The End of the Trail. 7 

II The Convict’s Funeral. 18 

III A Tale of Two Men. 34 

IV The “Shepherd Woman”. 43 

V Happy Valley . 58 

VI The Call of the World . 75 

VII Margey. 86 

VIII The Two Physicians. 98 

IX As a Man Thinketh . 110 

X The Turn in the Road. 121 

XI The Partnership is Dissolved. 133 

XII The Contending Forces. 148 

XIII Buck Garrett Writes a Letter. 162 

XIV Fate Weaves Her Web.173 

XV Greater Things Than These. .3^ 1 85 

XVI The Night Before the Wedding. 

XVII The Bishop’s Confession.. 21 * 




















LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


Milford W. Howard as “The Bishop of 

the Ozarks”.Frontispiece 

“Ef it wus you that wus dead I’d swear it 

wus him”.Opposite page 27 

“Will my other dreams come true, Margey ? 

Dare I hope?”.Opposite page 153 

He seizes Margey, the lust in his soul 

maddening him.Opposite page 205 

He placed his hand on Stoneman’s head and 

the tramp looked up... Opposite page 232 










Milford W. Howard, as “The Bishop of the Ozarks.” 





Milford W. Howard 


TIMES-MIRROR PRESS 
Q LOS ANGELES <2 

CALIFORNIA ^ 

f|\ 19 23 /I 


Copyright 

1923 

Times-Mirror Press 
Los Angeles 


All Rights Reserved 


©Cl AG96015 


DEC 26 '22 




FOREWORD 


I hope that “The Bishop of the Ozarks” will be 
accepted as something more than a novel. It is, of 
course, a romance, a picture of life in its many 
shades as found in the Ozarks of the South—withal 
it is a serious effort faithfully to portray the remark¬ 
able influence of psychic phenomena on the lives of 
the characters; and to do this in a manner that even 
approximated my desire, I often found it necessary 
to use a style somewhat foreign to the usual treat¬ 
ment of the modern romance. As to the merit of 
this treatment, or in fact, of the story itself, nothing 
will be said here; I prefer to leave such matters to 
the reader. It does seem fitting, however, that I 
take this opportunity to express my keen apprecia¬ 
tion to the Cosmopolitan Film Co., which has 
produced the story for the screen; to Mr. Finis 
Fox and his very able cast who have made of the 
picture an outstanding artistic success; and, finally, 
to the Film Booking Offices of America, Inc., which 
has handled the distribution of the production in 
such a satisfactory manner. 

Milford W. Howard. 

Los Angeles, 

Nov. 1, 1922. 











THE BISHOP OF THE OZARKS 



CHAPTER I 
The End of the Trail 

“Yo’ mus’ git up in de wagin an’ res’ yo’self, Massa 
Chapman, while I walks an’ drives de steers. Youse 
bin walkin’ all day fru de snow, climin’ ovah de rocks 
erlong dis trail, what seems to me is leadin’ nowhare, 
but deeper into dese wild mountains, an’ now I’se gwine 
to walk while you rides an’ holds baby Margey in 
yoah ahms, case she bin frettin’ fer you.” 

“I am not tired, Simon; J seem never to tire any 
more. There is something burning in my brain that 
lends wings to my feet, so I feel that I could just go 
on and on forever.” 

“But whah is we gwine, Massa Chapman ? I don’t 
ax dat to be ’quisitive case I’ll go to de end ob de 
yearth wid little Margey an’ you, but fer her sake, an’ 
fer yoah own sake, I’se afeared we gwine to some 
place whah somethin’ turrible gwine to happen.” 

“There is nothing to fear, Simon, for I feel that 
God is guiding us. I feel a call to go into this lawless 
coal-mining region to preach God’s word to the be¬ 
nighted souls that dwell there, and He will protect us, 
I know, and lead us to the end of the trail.” 

Roger Chapman climbed into the covered wagon, 
and Simon placed little Margey in his arms, descended 
to the ground, took up the rope-line around the horns 
of the “lead” ox, and the wagon once more began lum¬ 
bering over the dim trail, called a road, by the natives, 
but now so covered with snow that it could be fol¬ 
lowed only by an opening where it wormed its way 
through the dense forest. 


8 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


The man in the wagon wore the dress of an 
Episcopal clergyman, all frayed, threadbare and 
shabby, showing long usage. Indeed, it contained 
many patches, and some of the buttons were missing. 

The wearer was a man of unusual appearance, and 
would have attracted attention in any crowd. He was 
four inches above six feet, had large features, a mas¬ 
sive head, crowned with a thick growth of black hair, 
now grown long and shaggy. His cheeks were hollow, 
while his eyes burned with that peculiar light which 
always denotes the fanatic or the insane. 

That Simon feared for his sanity could have been 
gathered from his low mutterings as he trudged 
through the blinding snow, during the gathering gloom. 

“Po’ Soul! Po’ Soul! His min’ is gwine from 
him. Evah sence Margey’s mothah died an’ he begun 
to wandah ovah de country I’se seed dis cornin’ on; 
’deed I seed it befo’ young Missus went away. Dat 
time he wus bein’ consecrated a bishop in de church, 
when all de big preachers wus dah, an’ he had a quare 
spell, an’ fergot hisself an’ didn’t know who he wus, 
an’ dey had to s’spend de ceremony. Sumpthin’ 
snapped inside his haid an’ he been gwine from bad 
to wuser evah sence. 

“Ef God don’t take keer uv us, I don’t know what 
gwine to happen. A po’ crazy preacher, an ign’ant 
ole nigger pas’ sixty an’ a tiny leetle baby gal not 
more’n a yeah an’ a half ole! A yoke o’ steers, one 
uv ’em blind an’ tother hip-shot; an ole wagin dat’s 
cussin’ de tar bucket all de time, an’ not more’n ten 
dollahs in de worl’.” 

Simon’s complaining soliloquy was cut short by the 
appearance of a bewhiskered stranger who seemed to 
come from nowhere, blocking the further progress of 
the tired oxen by standing squarely in the middle of 
the trail. 


The End of the Trail 


9 


“Well, I’ll be damned if this ain’t the queerest 
outfit I ever seed navigatin’ these waters! A sky- 
pilot, a nigger and a yoke of bones what I reckon 
you-uns calls steers.” 

Margey stirred in her father’s arms, giving out a 
faint wail which caught the stranger’s attention. 

“By gum, a brat, too ! What’s it doin’ here without 
its ma?” 

“Her mother is dead,” the preacher said, solemnly, 
“and I am her father.” 

“What you-uns think you gwine to do in these 
diggin’s?” the stranger asked, a little less roughly than 
had been the tone of his first salutation. 

“I have come to preach the gospel to the people of 
this mining region. I had a call from God to come 
here, and am obeying His voice.” 

The bewhiskered one roared with laughter. “I 
reckon you heerd a jackass bray, like the feller I heerd 
about, who said he was called to preach. 

“He said he heerd the Lord callin’, one mornin’ 
down in the paster, sayin’, ‘Go preach,’ and he was 
jist natchelly gwine to answer the call, but some one 
tuck him down an’ showed him Bill Jones’ ole Jack, 
an’ when he opened his mouth an’ begin to bawl, 
‘Go preach! Go preach!’ the feller said it was the 
same voice he heerd in the nite, an’ he guessed he 
must ha’ been mistaken. So you shore didn’t hear 
the Lawd callin’ you to come heah, parson. No 
preachers an’ no niggers. You’d better git away while 
gittin’ is good, before the other fellers find out you 
are here. 

“There’s a empty cabin just over the next hill, an’ 
you kin stay there all night, an’ I won’t tell nobody, 
pervidin’ you hit the grit by daylight in the mornin’.” 

Chapman began to reply, but the stranger had 


10 The Bishop op the Ozarks 

vanished as suddenly and as mysteriously as he had 
appeared. 

“I’se skeered!” exclaimed Simon, between his chat¬ 
tering teeth, “for you an’ baby Margey. It don’t mat- 
tah ’bout me, but I’se oneasy erbout you-all.” 

“God will protect us, Simon!” exclaimed the 
preacher, his eyes burning fiercely through the falling 
shadows. “We will go on to the cabin and spend the 
night, and in the morning I will tell these people what 
wicked sinners they are, and show them how they can 
be saved from the wrath to come.” 

“What pesters me is the wrath what’s already 
come,” muttered Simon, as he urged the weary oxen 
onward. 

In the dusk of the evening shadows Chapman car¬ 
ried Margey into the cabin. Simon built a fire of 
some wood that he found in the chimney corner. Then 
he brought her cradle from the wagon, placed some 
blankets in it, and tenderly took the sleeping child 
from its father’s arms and placed her in the cradle, 
saying, “Dah, honey, sleep des lak you wus in yoah 
motha’s ahms.” 

While Chapman fed the oxen, brought in quilts 
and blankets for bedding, then built a fire of pine 
knots in the adjoining room—for the cabin had two 
rooms with a stack chimney in the center—Simon 
proceeded to prepare supper. 

When greatly troubled or perplexed, Simon always 
“talked to hisself,” to use one of his expressions, 
“case it kinda heps you to onderstan’,” he would say, 
by way of explanation, when asked about his habit 
of soliloquizing. 

“I’ll scrape out de hot embahs on de hath, an’ 
bake some sweet taters, an’ make a ash cake at de 
same time. Dese all git done ’bout de same time, while 


The End of the Trail 


11 


Tse fryin’ some bakin. Dat will be a fine supper fer 
dis Christmas eve night. It’s a whole passel more’n 
lots ob folks got tonight, an’ Tse pow’ful thankful. 
Ef young Missus wus heah wid us—” the old man’s 
voice broke, and he wiped away a tear from his black 
cheek with the back of his hand. 

“I reckon how dat de Lawd done knowed bes’, 
howsomever, case she wus raised sech a fine lady dat 
she wa’n’t fitten fer sech as dis, aldo she wa’n’t nevah 
stuck up, but des as kind to niggers an’ po’ white 
folks as she would a been to de queen or de president. 
See, dah’s her little Margey sleepin’ in her cradle 
wid de wind howlin’ fru de cracks ob de cabin, an’ 
de snow siftin’ fru de boahds not knowin’ dat her 
ma is wid de Angels an’ her pa mos’ los’ his min’, an’ 
she ain’t got no ’tector ’cept a pore ole nigger dat 
can’t pertect hisself ’cept God helps him, an’ da ain’t no 
finah blood in de lan’ dan what runs in little Margey’s 
veins. Lawd, Lawd! I don’t understan’ yoah provi¬ 
dences, but it mus’ be all right, I knows, an’ some day 
maybe ole Simon will understan’. 

“Yes, suh, her gran’daddy wus Massa Henry Gor¬ 
don ob ole Virginny, an’ I ’lows dey ain’t no finah 
blood in de worl’ dan de Gordon blood. Dere was 
Massa General John B. Gordon of Georgia, who come 
frum de Virginny Gordons, what wus shot from his 
hoss four times, leadin’ his men agin de Yankees, 
an’ ebery time he got up an’ rid right back at de head 
ob his column, an’ he wus de dashinest officer in de 
Confedrate Ahmy. Me an’ Simon Lee use to hab 
de bigges’ argyments in de work erbout which wus 
de bes’ blood, de Lee blood or de Gordon blood. He 
alius said de Lee blood wus de bes’, but I said de 
Gordon blood am Scotch an’ will fight de quickes’, but 
he say de Lee blood is English an’ will fight de longes’. 


12 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


Howsumbe evah, when Margey’s gran’daddy married 
one ob de Lee gals me an’ ole Simon Lee buried de 
tommyhawk, an’ he say, ‘Simon Gordon, dere ain’t 
no moah argyment betwixt us erbout blood, case 
when de Lee blood an’ de Gordon blood jined dey 
ain’t nuthin’ finah an’ noblah dis side ob de perly 
gates.’ Yes, sah, I’se proud to bear de name ob 
Simon Gordon if I ain’t nuthin’ but a plain ole nigger, 
an’ I gwine to lib up to de Gordon blood er die a 
tryin’.” 

Simon had washed a half dozen big yams and 
placed them on the hearth-stone now heated by the 
coals from the burning fire. He had also made up a 
batch of dough from corn-meal, to which he added 
a pinch of salt and several spoonfuls of grease from 
the frying bacon. From the dough he made a big 
flat pone which he placed carefully beside the yams, 
and covered the whole with hot embers. 

“Ef I had some good Jersey buttah to go wid dem 
taters an’ ash cake it would be pow'ful fine, but I 
reckon ef Massa Chapman is as hungry as I is dat de 
bakin an’ graby will go mighty good. It ain’t what 
dat deah chile ought to hab, by a pow’ful heap, but I’se 
gwine to fine her some milk tonight ef dey is a cow in 
dis settlement what got a drap er milk in her bag. 
Well, de taters an’ Johnny-cake am done—'tain’t zackly 
a Johnny-cake, case it baked in de ashes ’stid ob on a 
Johnny-cake boahd, but I pertend to Massa Chap¬ 
man it is a Johnny-cake. I likes ’em bettah baked 
in de ashes, myself, case dey sweetah, an’ den a little 
bit ob wood ashes mixed wid salt am fine fer a hoss, 
an’ what’s good fer a hoss, if he is a thurrybred, is 
good fer folks.” 

He stole softly to the cradle where Margey still 
slept, pulling the covers over her face to protect it 


The End of the Trail 


13 


from occasional snowflakes that sifted through the 

roof. 

Placing the “Johnny-cake” and potatoes on a tin 
“platter” that he had taken from the wagon, Simon 
carried Chapman’s supper into the adjoining room, 
where he found the preacher sitting moodily by the 
brightly burning pine knot fire. 

“I’se brought yoah suppah, Massa Chapman, an’ 
when youse fru, I’ll eat a bite, an’ den I’se gwine 
out to borry some milk fer little Margey.” 

“You can’t go out in this blinding snowstorm, 
Simon. The night is black as ink, and you have no 
idea where to go. Besides, if you found a house 
where some one lived they would not let you have 
any milk. We must wait until morning, and then I 
will go myself. They cannot refuse me, for I am the 
father of the child, and she has no mother.” 

“I ain’t meanin’ to be dis’spectful, Massa Chapman, 
but Margey is a Gordon, an’ Gen’l Gordon was shot 
fo’ times by de Yankees, an’ dey ain’t killed him yit, 
an’ I’se gwine fer dat milk ef ebery ole squirrel rifle 
in dese mountains shoots at me, an’ I ain’t gwine to 
ax no man or woman fer dat milk, I’se gwine to ax de 
cow, an’ when I tells her what I wants wid de milk 
she ain’t gwine ter say ‘No,’ an’ I bring it to dat 
baby ef I haf to tote fo’ bullets in my body. 

“What’s dat!” exclaimed Simon, his ears keen to 
catch distant sounds. “I heerd dogs barkin’ lak dey 
use to when de patarollers wus aftah a runaway 
slave.” 

He opened the door slightly, and as he did so the 
barking of the dogs could be heard faintly in the dis¬ 
tance, and then a fusillade of shots. 

“Perhaps an escaped convict from the Flat Top 
Coal Mine,” said Chapman. “It is but a few miles 


14 


The Bishop oe the Ozarics 


from here, and they have some desperate characters 
there who are worked in the mines by the State.” 

“I heahs some one runniiT fru de woods, lak he 
cumin’ dis way. You take keer ob yo’sef, Massa 
Chapman, an’ I take keer ob Margey.” 

The old man was gone before Chapman could 
reply. He seized the sleeping infant in his arms, 
tucked the cover around her, opened the back door, and 
fled with his precious burden into the night, as a man 
of powerful physique, panting hard, clothed in a 
striped convict suit, torn in many places, and blood¬ 
stained, threw himself against the front door shutter, 
lifting it from its wooden hinges, falling to his knees 
in the room, from the force of his effort to break down 
the door. He arose hastily, looked at the man before 
him dressed in the garb of an Episcopal Bishop and 
started back with a gasp of amazement. 

The preacher was no less surprised as he stood 
looking into the face of the convict. For some 
moments neither man spoke, but each scrutinized the 
other as though he were looking at his own ghost. 
They were of the same height, the same build, the 
same complexion and features. In the eyes of the 
preacher there burned the fire of sleeping insanity, 
while in the eyes of the convict there was the look of 
the hunted animal. It was the convict who spoke 
first. 

“I see you are a preacher, by your dress, and feel 
that I can trust you to save me from my pursuers who 
will shoot me down like a dog if they catch me. I 
saw a light through the cracks in the door shutter and 
took a desperate chance as a desperate man will do, 
and I implore you to hide me until I can make my 
escape. The snow is falling so fast that my tracks 
will be obliterated in a short time, and if you will let 


The End of the Trail 


15 


me climb into the loft and hide, and tell them, if they 
come, that you have not seen me, they will believe 
you because you are a minister, and they will give up 
the chase, and I can get away.” 

As the convict spoke rapidly, with the intensity of 
a man in mortal agony, the fires burned more fiercely 
in Chapman’s eyes, and the expression of his face 
hardened. 

“You ask me, a Minister of God to lie for you and 
help cheat the law of its just demands? You ask me 
to perjure my own soul? Sooner would I hand you 
over to the law and see you justly punished.” 

“Man of God, have you no pity, no mercy? Was 
it not His Son who said to the woman, ‘Go thy way 
and sin no more, neither do I condemn thee’? Can 
you, His Minister, not be as human as Jesus was?” 

“How dare you, a convict, talk about Jesus, the 
pure and holy One? You wear the badge of shame 
and dishonor while He was sinless and perfect.” 

“But did He not say, ‘There is none perfect; no, 
not one’? Then in Christ’s name an imperfect, sin¬ 
ful man pleads for mercy. I am not all bad. I have 
sinned, but who has not ? I might tell you a story that 
would melt a heart of stone, but you, perhaps, would 
not believe me. But I am a human being, a son of the 
God you serve; a poor weak, wayward son, but a son 
none the less, and I beg you my brother to give me 
the one chance I crave for freedom. Before God I 
promise I will walk in the straight and narrow way 
until the end of my days. 

“My God, I hear the dogs! They come this way! 
Quick ! quick! For Jesus’ sake, brother man, will you 
save me?” 

“No, a thousand times, no!” thundered the 
preacher, who stood like a grim executioner, the light 


16 


The) Bishop op the Ozarks 


in his eyes burning into the convict’s brain. ‘Til hold 
you until your pursuers arrive and turn you over to 
the law!” 

The hunted man sprang for the door, but Chap¬ 
man grappled with him. It was a titanic struggle for 
a few moments, the preacher fired by the strength of 
a maniacal fury while the convict fought a life and 
death battle. With a mighty effort he threw his 
antagonist into one corner of the room, and before 
Chapman could recover, the convict had snatched from 
his bosom a revolver and leveled it at the infuriated 
minister. 

“I took this from the guard when I made my 
escape,” he panted, “and it carries the bullet that will 
bring me freedom if it has to pierce your heart to do 
so. Take off your preacher clothes, and do it in a jiffy 
while I remove my convict suit. I’ll stand on the oppo¬ 
site side of the room and if you start toward me I’ll 
shoot you down just like the guards intend to shoot 
me. I’ll put your suit on and stay until you dress in 
my convict’s suit. When they find out that I have 
tricked them I will be doubling back on my track, and 
by morning I will be far away. As an itinerant bishop 
I can make my way out of the country and to a new 
life. I don’t like to treat you this way, but you refused 
to help me, and it is the only course left. I don’t feel 
that the price is too great to pay for my freedom and 
a chance to begin life over. The guards won’t harm 
you, even if they are sore and may treat you a little 
rough. Some day I hope we shall meet again, and that 
I may be able to repay you a thousandfold for this 
service.” 

Overawed by the desperate man, Chapman obeyed. 
Just as he had donned the convict’s suit, the dogs 
began baying at the front door, and the voices of the 
man hunters could be heard talking excitedly. 


The End of the Trail 


17 


As they burst down the front door, as the convict 
had done a half hour previously, the man wearing the 
Bishop’s suit sprang through the back door and into 
the blackness of the forest. His fleeing footsteps were 
halted by a fusillade of shots fired in the cabin which 
he had just quitted. 

The baying of the dogs ceased, and he could hear 
men cursing and talking excitedly in a loud voice. One 
of them said, “We all shot at once, so we don’t know 
who killed him, but we know he’s as dead as hell.” 

“A damned good riddance,” said another, “for he 
was sure a bad one. We’ll leave him here until to¬ 
morrow, and if the natives don’t bury him we’ll hire 
somebody to come up and plant him. It's Christmas 
eve night, and I move that we go down to Bill Hen¬ 
drick’s still and celebrate.” 

“I second the motion,” the other members of the 
man-hunting party shouted in unison, and men and 
dogs took a noisy departure, leaving the man in con¬ 
vict clothes lying on his face, the life blood slowly 
oozing from a half dozen jagged wounds, his form 
stiffening in death. 

Roger Chapman lay there, at the end of life’s trail, 
clothed in felon’s stripes, while faithful Simon was 
hiding somewhere in the night, with Margey sleeping 
in his arms, and the convict wearing the “Bishop’s” 
frayed and threadbare suit fought a great battle in the 
dark with the man of flesh. 


CHAPTER II 

The Convict's Funeral 

The man hunters and dogs had departed, leaving 
the dead man alone on the puncheon floor, beside the 
pine-knot fire. 

Simon’s Johnny-cake, yams and bacon lay un¬ 
touched on the tin platter. A stream of blood flowed 
from the body and trickled through a crack in the 
floor. 

The hiding convict heard his pursuers depart. A 
great fear clutched his heart. The minister wearing 
his suit had been mistaken for him, and without giving 
him a chance to surrender, the brutal convict guards 
had shot him down like a dangerous wild beast. The 
horrible feeling that he was a murderer fired his brain. 
When, in his desperation he compelled the minister 
to exchange clothing with him he had not thought of 
such a contingency. 

In the old days when he was a boy, before sin had 
come into his life, he had heard his mother tell the 
story of how Jesus died for sinners. He remembered 
the vivid picture that his imagination drew of the suf¬ 
fering Christ as He hung on the cruel cross, and now 
in the agony of his soul he could hear the anguished 
cry, “I thirst!" 

As he peered into the darkness with burning eyes 
and aching brain he could see the sweet, suffering face 
of the Master, a halo of glory about His head, a world 
of pity in His glorious eyes, and once again he heard 
Him say, “Father forgive them for they know not 
what they do." 

Once again as the raging wind shrieked through 
the forest he heard the Saviour say, “It is finished!" 
and with one last throb of His great heart it burst in 


The Convict's Funeral 


19 


an agony of love and pity for the world that had 
crucified Him. 

Just then he heard another cry. It was the feeble 
wail of an infant, wafted to his ears out of the blind¬ 
ing darkness. What could a child be doing in this 
terrible storm? Surely, he must be mistaken. It must 
have been the shrieking of the wind. 

Again he heard the wail, and this time the baby’s 
voice seemed to say, “I want my daddy.” 

Merciful God! Could it be that the preacher had 
a child? If so, was there a mother in the cabin? No 
matter what the peril might be to himself, he must 
investigate. 

Hurrying to the cabin he entered the room he had 
just quitted in mortal fear. No sound was to be 
heard, save the moaning of the wind. Then he raised 
the head of the man on the floor and spoke to him in a 
voice trembling with emotion. He placed his hand 
over the heart and it was still. He stroked the dead 
man’s hair, he pressed his lips on the marble forehead. 

“Would to God I had died rather than you, my 
brother,” he moaned. “Oh, if I could bring you back 
with my worthless life how gladly I would do so. 
Now it is too late ! Too late ! Through life —through 
all eternity, there will ring in my ears those awful 
words, ‘Too late! too late!’ ” 

After a long time he arose from his knees, and for 
the first time discovered another room to the cabin. 
Like a drunken man he reeled as he walked. His 
strength had forsaken him, so he was as weak as a 
little child. 

He entered the adjoining room. There by the fire 
where Simon had cooked his ash cake, sweet “taters” 
and bacon, stood Margey’s empty cradle. The back 
door of the room stood open. The wind swept in 


20 


The: Bishop of the Ozarks 


furiously, bringing sheets of snow that blew half way 
across the room. Going to the open door he peered 
out into the darkness, straining his ears for some 
sound that would solve the mystery that added new 
terror to the situation. 

Thus he stood for a little while, but not for long. 
Once more he heard the same cry, “I want my daddy!” 
Ah, it was true. The dead man had a baby, and its 
mother had snatched it and fled into the forest when 
he threw himself into the other room, pursued by the 
posse and dogs. 

They must be almost frozen. All thought of self 
left him and he determined to save the child and its 
mother, and then surrender to the authorities and go 
back to serve his sentence in the mines. 

In a loud voice he called, “The danger is all over, 
and you can come back now/’ 

He waited with wildly beating heart. What could 
he say to the widow of the man for whose death he 
was responsible? What consolation could he offer 
her? How could he endure her cries of anguish and 
the baby’s piteous call, “I want my daddy”? 

As he heard footsteps approaching he shrank back 
into the shadow. He turned his face away from the 
light. He dare not look into the eyes of the woman 
whom he had unwittingly robbed of her husband. 

The footsteps came nearer, approaching slowly, 
cautiously. Some one entered the door, and a voice 
said: “Massa Chapman, did dey kill de po’ convict? I 
was skeered fer de baby, so when he come bustin’ in 
de doah an’ fell to his knees I snatched her frum de 
cradle an’ flew out de doah an’ hid in de woods. Ef 
he had come in dis room I could a hid him in de loft, 
an’ maybe dey wouldn’t a foun’ him, an’ his life could 
a been saved. Yo’ knowse we uster hide de runaway 


The Convict’s Funeral 


21 


niggers from de patarollers, an’ I shore would hide 
a convict frum dem devils an’ blood-hounds. Dey is 
de devil’s own dogs, an’ I alius hab dat awful feelin’ 
when I heahs ’em trailin’ a man. Is he shore nuff 
dead, Massa Chapman?” 

The man hiding his face in the shadows made no 
reply. He dreaded the awful moment when this gray 
haired old negro knew the truth. He tried to frame 
words of reply to the repeated question, but they froze 
on his lips. 

"Po’ man! I knowse he’s dead, an’ youse so hurt 
you can’t speak. I’ll des lay Margey in her cradle an’ 
go in an’ wash de blood off an’ lay him out de bes’ I 
kin. We mus’ not bury him in his convic’ suit, case 
he done gone whah dey ain’t no convic’s, an’ he mus’ 
be buried decent. You got a ole suit what ain’t much 
fitten to wear any more. Kin we use it to lay him out 
in?” 

Still the shrinking man did not speak. 

Simon, without waiting longer for his master to 
reply, took some water in a large gourd and a towel, 
and entered the room where the dead man lay, fol¬ 
lowed by the cowering figure wearing the ministerial 
suit of Roger Chapman. 

“Po’ chile, po’ tired soul! Youse at res’ now in 
dem sweet fiel’s ob Eden, an’ yoah troubles is all 
ovah. I he’ped lay out lots ob folks what done gone 
an’ left da worn out bodies but dis de fust time I evah 
laid out a man what was a convic’; but I’se glad I kin 
do it fer you. You wa’n’t all bad. Nobody is. De 
meanes’ man in de penitentiary got a heap ob good in 
him, an’ when he git ovah yondah all de good gwine 
to show up. My little Missus what gone ovah used to 
tell me so many times dat Jesus come to fin’ de los’ 
sheep. An’ you wus just’ a po’ los’ sheep, an’ now 


22 


The: Bishop op the Ozarks 


bress God Jesus done fin’ you in all dis terrible storm 
an’ took you to de good, wahm sheepfold.” 

The old man set his gourd of water on the pun¬ 
cheon floor, knelt beside the still form, raised his head, 
gazed earnestly into the blood-streaked face, the wide- 
open eyes, threw his arms around the dead man’s neck, 
bowed his head until his face pressed the bloody face 
of his dead master, and cried in an unearthly voice, 
“Oh, my God, my God!” 

Loud voices could be heard, and many footsteps 
approaching. The old negro paid no heed, and the 
convict felt no fear in the presence of the heart break¬ 
ing scene. 

Without waiting to knock on the door, the bewhisk- 
ered one of the previous evening entered, followed by 
half a dozen rough mountaineers. 

“I reckon we don’t need no interduction, parson, be- 
case we met when you wus cornin’ up here. We heerd 
that a convict had got away from Flat Top, an’ when 
we heerd all the shootin’ awhile ago we ’lowed we’d 
come up an’ see if they got him. ’Pears he is dead as 
a door nail from the way he is lyin’. They must a 
filled his hide so full of holes that it won’t hold shucks 
from the number of guns that fired. What’s the old 
nigger lyin’ there moanin’ an’ takin’ on so fur? 
Damn quare about a coon, ain’t it ? I ain’t got no use 
fer ’em, but I ain’t never seed a white man that would 
blubber about a convic’ what got shot up. It makes a 
feller wonder if the niggers has got souls after all. 

“A smart chap come through here last year sellin’ 
books an’ makin’ speeches sayin’ niggers ain’t got no 
souls. I can’t read none, but my ole woman was 
purty well raised, an’ she kin read like a preacher, an’ 
she says it’s all a terrible lie, that niggers got jest as 
much souls as white folks, an’ that when they die they 


The Convict’s Funeral 


23 


will go to heaven jest the same as anybody else. I 
didn’t tell her so, becase I don’t want to hurt her 
feelin’s, but ef niggers are goin’ to go to heaven then 
I’d ruther go to hell. At least that’s the way I been 
feelin’ ontil I seed that ole feller takin’ on about a 
dead convic’, an’ it makes me wonder ef heaven 
wouldn’t be about the right place fer him. 

“Git up, ole nigger,” he said in a gentler tone, tak¬ 
ing Simon by the shoulders. “They ain’t no use in 
takin’ on. He’s as dead as he’ll ever be, an’ all your 
groanin’ won’t bring him back. I reckon he wa’n’t no 
good to the world nohow, an’ maybe it’s what the 
preachers call ‘Providence’ that took him.” 

A cry came from the other room. “I want my 
daddy!” it pleaded. 

“Parson, yore baby is callin’ you. Where is its 
mammy?” 

“She is dead,” spoke the man addressed as “Par¬ 
son,” and he was frightened at the sound of his own 
voice. It seemed hollow and to come from some far 
away place. 

“I’ll go to her, Massa Chapman,” said Simon, as 
he rose, aided by the stalwart mountaineer. 

“Well, Parson, my name is Jack Armstead, an’ 
while I didn’t like your talk when I seed you down the 
trail this evenin’ I’m kinder sorry fer you an’ yore kid 
an’ the ole nigger, too. We all will make a box fer 
him tomorrow an’ help plant him. Ef it wus you that 
wus dead some of us would set up with the corpse, 
but bein’s it’s jest a convict they ain’t no use in any¬ 
body losin’ any sleep over him, so we’ll go home an’ 
git a good night’s sleep an’ you kin do the same, an 
we’ll help you git rid of him in the mornin’. 

“When this storm’s over you will have to move on, 
but we’ve decided to let you stay until then.” 


24 


The Bishop op the Ozarics 


Left alone with the dead man, the convict became 
a prey to a storm of contending emotions that threat¬ 
ened to uproot the very foundation of his reason. 

He had never touched a dead man before in his 
life, and the thought of doing so filled him with a feel¬ 
ing of fear; however, he must perform for the dead 
preacher the services that Simon was willing to render 
a dead convict. 

He washed the blood from the face of the silent 
figure, and began the difficult task of removing the 
clothing. It was a trying ordeal, but finally he suc¬ 
ceeded. 

As he worked feverishly he did not hear Simon’s 
cat-like tread, or observe him when he laid a suit of 
clean linen and an old suit of the preacher on the 
floor beside him. 

When he had finished undressing the dead man he 
found the burial clothing provided by Simon, and be¬ 
gan the work of dressing him. 

When, after hours of unremitting effort he had 
folded the preacher’s hands on his breast, and closed 
his eyes, he knelt beside him and began to pray. 

Thus he knelt through the night, agonizing as did 
Jesus in Gethsemane, sweating like the Master did, 
great drops of his very heart’s blood, praying for par¬ 
don—praying for light, for strength. 

As he prayed he saw himself a boy again at his 
mother’s knee. He lisped once more: “Now I lay me 
down to sleep.” 

Again he stood in the presence of death. He saw 
the angelic smile on his mother’s face as she kissed 
him farewell for the last time, passing over to the 
great beyond happily because her boy had promised 
her that he would be a minister of her church. It had 
been her fondest dream that she would some day see 
him a Bishop. 


The Convict’s Funeral 


25 


Then he saw his first step in crime, his career on 
the downward road; his sentence to the penitentiary. 
He groaned aloud in spirit and prayed for the tears 
that might relieve his burning brain and bring a sur¬ 
cease to the agony of his soul. 

In the adjoining room old Simon fought a battle 
worthy a Caesar or Napoleon. The wisest man in all 
the world would have proven inadequate to a solution 
of the problem that beset the humble old ex-slave. 

But Simon knew the source of all wisdom, of all 
power. To that fountain he had gone a thousand 
times, and his soul had always been refreshed. 

As he rocked Margey’s cradle and crooned to her 
the cradle song taught him by his old black Mammy 
he asked God for wisdom. 

“I’se des a little chile, Lawd, ’pendin’ on yo’. I 
knowse yo’ kin he’p me an’ show me what to do. I 
promis’ young Missus on her dyin’ bed I’d pertect her 
little Margey, dat’s got de blood ob bofe de Lees an’ 
de Gordons in her, an’ I can’t do it now unless yo’ 
pertect bofe ob us. Oh, Lawd, can’t yo’ show me a 
sign so’s I’ll be shore what yo’ wants me to do, so’s 
I’ll be shore youse guidin’ me. Ef de children ob 
Isrell needed a piller ob fiah by night, I shorely need 
somethin’ to he’p me an’ dis precious chile. 

“Oh, young Missus, my beautiful Missus, why 
can’t God let yo’ come fer des a few minutes an’ speak 
to me an’ tell me what to do, an’ den yo’ kin go right 
back to heaben where he is now wid yo’?” 

A look of rapture overspread the black face as he 
gazed steadfastly upward. Clasping his hands in an 
attitude of ecstasy he exclaimed: “Thank God, thank 
God, young Missus, He sent yo’ lak a piller ob fire by 
night to tell yoah ole Simon what to do.” 

In this attitude he seemed to be listening intently 


26 


The Bishop of the Ozarks 


to some one, drinking in every word as though each 
one contained the elixir of life. 

‘Til do it, bress God. I’ll do it, an’ all I ax when 
I get up dah wid yo’ is fer yo’ to gib me one smile, an’ 
heah Jesus say, ‘Well done, ole Simon, yo’ has done 
de bes’ yo’ could.’ ” 

The morning light had broken—the storm was past. 
The clouds had rolled into a great bank in the West, 
and the sun burst over a mountain top to the East¬ 
ward, its rays bringing out the soft beauties of the 
snow-covered earth. 

The kneeling convict heard footsteps. He looked 
up with agony in his face, and before him stood Simon 
with the sleeping Margey in his arms, the halo of a 
saint about his snow crowned head, a look of divine 
radiance beaming from his countenance. 

“Good mornin’, ‘Bishop,’ ” he said. “It’s been a tur- 
rible night, but de sunshine has come wid de mornin’. 
Margey been callin’ fer yo’ fru de night, but I didn’t 
want to sturb yo’, case I heerd yo’ talkin’ to God, so 
I waited ontil He had heerd bofe ob us, an’ den I say I 
bring her to her daddy while I run out an’ ax some ob 
de good people fer some milk fer her breakfas’.” 

Jack Armstead was as good as his word, and by 
the time the sun was well up he came with several of 
his mountaineers to dig the convict’s grave. They all 
seemed to be laboring under some suppressed excite¬ 
ment as they entered the cabin. 

“Good mornin’, Parson,” said the man who was 
evidently the leader of his wild mountain community. 
“You know we got up a lot of excitement this mornin’ 
about the convict that wus killed last night. I told my 
wife about it, and she axed me what he looked like, 
an’ when I described him the best I could, she said, 
‘My God, I’ll bet it’s Tom Sullivan!’ Of course you 





Ef it wus you that wus dead I’d swear it wus him. 















The Convict's Funeral 


27 


know Tom Sullivan, parson, leastwise you’ve heerd of 
him. Everybody in Alabama knows who he is.” 

“I think I have heard of him,” said the man in 
ministerial garb, who is known ever after this tragic 
Christmas eve night as Roger Chapman. 

“Well, you heerd about the biggest hearted man 
that ever lived in the State when you heerd about Tom 
Sullivan,” warmly exclaimed Armstead. 

“He was the friend of the poor, the sick and help¬ 
less. I never seed him myself, but my wife seed him 
once, an’ she says she’d know his hide if she seed it 
in tan. She’s cornin’ now with some of the women.” 

A tall, raw-boned, hard-faced woman, carrying a 
snuff box in one hand and a dog-wood tooth brush in 
the other, followed by a half dozen women of the same 
type, came tiptoeing into the room where the dead man 
lay with a white sheet spread over him. 

“Parson, this is my wife, Molly,” said Armstead, 
with a jerk of his thumb toward the woman with the 
snuff box and tooth brush. “If you’ll take the sheet 
offen him, maybe she can tell if it is Tom Sullivan.” 

She was gazing hard at Chapman, holding her 
open hand above her eyes as though this would aid 
her vision. 

“Ef it was you that wus dead I’d swear it wus 
him,” she said. “You is as much alike as two black 
eyed peas. You shore could pass fer him or his twin 
brother, either one.” 

Chapman removed the sheet from the face of the 
dead man and the rough mountaineers stood reverent¬ 
ly in the presence of death. Coming a little closer, 
Molly Armstead looked long and earnestly into the 
rigid face of the silent figure lying in one corner of the 
room. 

“Yes, it’s him as shore as God!” she exclaimed with 


28 


The Bishop oE the Ozarics 


much feeling. “The only difference is I can’t see his 
eyes. He had the most wonderfulest eyes I ever looked 
into. They wus just like yourn, Parson. They looked 
right through you, an’ they wa’n’t afeard of nuthin’ on 
earth. I never seed him but once, an’ it wus when 
they wus hot after him fer robbin’ a train on the 
Frisco road. He comes to our house all tired to death. 
He said he had not tasted anything to eat for two days 
an’ nights, an’ hadn’t slep’ a wink. My man wus away 
from home workin’ at the still, an’ I wus most skeered 
plum to death, but when he looked at me with them 
wonderful eyes an’ said, ‘I wouldn’t harm a hair o’ 
your head for all the gold in the world,’ I knowed he 
meant it. So he says, ‘Let me sleep jest one hour an' 
then wake me up an’ have a good meal cooked fur me 
an’ I will pay you well.’ He hadn’t more’n hit the bed 
afore he wus fast asleep, an’ I made him some strong 
coffee an’ cooked some sausage an’ hot biscuits. 

“When the hour wus up I hated to wake him, he 
wus sleepin’ so sound, but I dasn’t disobey him, so I 
called him, an’ he jumped up, and before I could say 
scat he had two pistols pintin’ right at me, an’ I nearly 
dropped dead in my tracks. Then he come to hisself, 
dropped his pistols to his side an’ said, ‘My God, I 
come purty near shootin’ you. I dreamed they wus 
after me, an’ when you called me I reckon I thought 
they had me.’ Well, he shore did eat some meal. You 
know it alius does a woman good to see a man eat like 
he enjoys her cookin’ an’ he had me goin’ by the time 
he got through eatin’. Our little Billy wus five years 
old, an’ he kep’ eyein’ the stranger while he wus eatin’ 
my hot biscuits an’ sausage. He wus half crawlin’ an’ 
half walkin’ becase he had some disease that we didn’t 
know nuthin’ about that kinder paralyzed him. When 
the man got through eatin’ he seed little Billy an’ took 
him on his lap. ‘What ails the little fellow?’ he axed, 


The Convict's Funeral 


29 


an’ his voice sounded like music, it was so soft an’ 
gentle. I told him that I didn’t know,—that he had 
never been able to walk like other children, then he 
axed me to tell him all about Billy’s ‘symptoms,’ as 
he called ’em, an’ when I got through, an’ he examined 
him all over, he said, ‘Your child has got what the 
doctors call infantile paralysis, an’ you must take him 
to Birmingham to a doctor an’ have him treated at 
once, or he never will get well.’ ‘But we ain’t got no 
money to pay a doctor,’ I said, ‘an’ no way to git 
there.’ ‘I will give you the money,’ he said. He took 
a big roll outen a sack he had been carryin’ on his back 
an’ handed it to me, an’ wrote somethin’ on a piece of 
paper, sayin’, ‘This is the doctor’s name, an’ will tell 
you jest how to find him when you go to Birmingham,’ 
He kissed Billy, patted him on the head, an’ said, ‘My 
little man, you must be well when we meet again.’ I 
think I must a been cryin’ by this time, but I tried to 
thank him, an’ I jest couldn’t say a word. ‘I under¬ 
stand, my good woman,’ he said. ‘I’m jest tryin’ to 
put a little balance on the other side of the account.’ 
I ain’t never figgered out what he meant yit. When I 
looked up at him standin’ like a big oak tree towerin’ 
head an’ shoulders above me, he was swallerin’ hard, 
an’ I seed the tears in his big, wonderful eyes. Before 
I could say another word he wus out in the yard, 
walkin’ like a ‘hurricane.’ ‘What’s your name, Mis¬ 
ter?’ I said, jest as he got to the gate. He turned his 
head, an’ this time he wus smilin’ the most wonder¬ 
ful smile I ever seed on a human face, an’ he said: 
‘Will you promise never to tell?’ I said, ‘I promise 
you, Mister.’ Then he said, ‘My name’s Tom Sulli¬ 
van.’ 

“It stunned me like somethin’ hit me on the head, 
an’ afore I could think he wus out of sight. When my 
ole man come home an’ I told him about it an’ he axed 


30 


Th£ Bishop of the Ozarks 


me who I reckoned the man wus, I lied to him an’ said 
I didn’t know, an’ I never told him no different till this 
mornin’.” 

“Did the little boy get well?” Chapman asked, 
eagerly. 

“That’s the turrible part of it,” said the woman in 
a hopeless tone of voice. “Little Billy wus tuck wuser 
that night an’ in a week he wus dead, an’ we never 
got to take him to Birmingham.” 

After a pause she said, “Parson, I’d like to have 
him buried alongside my little Billy, an’ ef you don’t 
mind I want you to say a prayer over both graves. Ef 
I am willin’ to have a convict laid by my little Billy 
shorely you won’t mind sayin’ a prayer, will you?” 

“I feel that I am not worthy,” said Chapman, “but 
with God’s help I’ll do the best I can.” 

“Dumed funny talk for a parson, I must say!” ex¬ 
claimed Armstead. “Ginerly they feel so much better 
than pore devils that I ain’t got no use fer ’em.” 

The grave was dug beside little Billy’s, and a coffin 
made from the best poplar lumber in the community. 

The sun was low in the west when everything was 
ready for the burial. Four strong men carried the 
box containing the remains of the preacher, on “hand¬ 
spikes.” When these became tired, others were ready 
to take their places. Thus, heading the little procession 
they traveled the half mile to the grave now ready to 
receive the cast off shell of the man who was being 
buried as Tom Sullivan. 

Old Simon with Margey in his arms stood at the 
foot of the grave, while Chapman, laboring under a 
great emotion tried to speak. His voice was broken, 
and he seemed to be seized with an ague. His knees 
trembled, his hands shook like an old man with the 
palsy. His lips seemed parched and he continually 
moistened them with his tongue. 


The Convict's Funeral 


31 


At last he spoke in a voice that startled his hearers. 
In it there was something they had never felt before. 

“This is Christmas day/’ he said, “and it was on 
this day that Christ came to this world to show men 
and women like Tom Sullivan the way to live. He 
associated with such men, and taught them the sort of 
life Tom Sullivan lived could only end in one way. 
He showed such men how to find peace and pardon. 

“He found some good in every one, and declared 
that all men are sons of God. Some of them are prod¬ 
igal sons, but sons, nevertheless. 

“Tom Sullivan was a prodigal son but God, his 
Father, never quit loving him, and Jesus Christ, his 
elder brother never turned His back on him. Jesus 
knew his weakness, his temptations, and pitied him. 
No doubt He wept over him just as He wept over 
Jerusalem when He was here on earth. 

“We are going to consign all the bad that was ever 
in Tom Sullivan to the tomb. The bad is all dead, and 
a new Tom Sullivan lives. No matter where he may 
dwell, whether in this or some other sphere, the spirit 
of Tom Sullivan has cast off the old man and is 
clothed in new garments. 

“We will now pray to Him who is the Father of us 
all.” 

The sun was setting now, and its last rays rested 
like a halo of love about the face of the dead man. 
The lid had been removed from the coffin so all could 
take a last look at him. 

“Our Father/’ the preacher said, humbly, “we know 
that this, our brother is not dead, but that he has just 
laid down his tired body so that he could enter into 
the glory that lies just beyond the veil that separates 
the two worlds. His burdens lie here in the grave, 
his sorrows, his disappointments. By his side lies the 
feeble body of little Billy, but in the sunshine of God’s 


32 The Bishop op the Ozarks 

glory they now dwell, free from the limitations of 
the flesh. 

“Into Thy hands, our Father, we commend their 
spirits, knowing that all is well with them. Amen.” 

The next morning Simon yoked the oxen early and 
everything was loaded into the wagon as for a jour¬ 
ney. Simon insisted on driving the oxen while Chap¬ 
man remained in the wagon with Margey. 

As they were starting back over the trail traveled 
two days previously, Jack Armstead and wife appeared 
on the scene. “Why, you ain’t gwine, are you, Par¬ 
son?” he said. “I jest come to tell you that we all took 
a vote after you talked at the funeral an’ it wus unani¬ 
mous to ax you to stay here an’ preech fer us. Ain’t 
none of us Christians, but mebbe you would take us 
in the church, anyhow, an’ we could learn frum you 
how to live. We’ve run all the parsons out that ever 
come in here, but you are different, an’ I shore wish 
you would stay.” 

Chapman told him that it would be impossible, but 
that he hoped to come back and see them some day. 

“I fetched you somethin’, Parson,” said Molly 
Armstead, “which me an’ Jack wants to give you ef 
you are jest set on goin’ away. It may come in handy 
in raisin’ your kid. It’s the money Tom Sullivan give 
us fer little Billy. When he died we didn’t have the 
heart to use it for anything else, an’ it’s all there, every 
cent of it. We ain’t never counted it, but it seems like 
a right smart of money.” 

Reluctantly Chapman took the money, knowing 
that the sacred duty now rested on him of caring for 
Simon and Margey. He thanked the woman with such 
words as he could command. 

“Don’t thank me, parson, thank Tom Sullivan,” she 
said. 

As the wagon lurched forward the woman stretched 


The Convict's Funeral 


33 


forth her hands, a great longing in her face. “Pray 
fer me an’ my ole man, Parson/’ she said. 

When Chapman looked back for the last time her 
face was between her hands, covered by her apron, 
and she was sobbing softly as the big man by her side 
stroked her head with his rough hand, saying gently, 
“Don’t cry, honey, I jest can’t stand it.” 


CHAPTER III 
A Tale of Two Men 

It required several days for the oxen to amble their 
way from the mining region of Jefferson County to 
Memphis. Simon insisted that the “Bishop” as he 
called the man wearing the shabby ministerial suit, 
ride in the covered wagon while he walked up the 
steep hills, guiding the team. 

The man, while he much preferred to take upon 
himself the hardships of the journey and allow Simon 
to ride and care for Margey, raised no protest. He 
felt that detection now would leave the child and old 
Simon to the mercy of the world, and this he feared . 
far more than for his own safety. 

A great tumult was raging in his soul, and his days 
were given to a thousand contending emotions, while 
his nights were filled with feverish dreams and queer 
fantasies. He seemed to be surrounded by unseen 
forces, swaying him from one purpose to another until 
his brain reeled. 

Remorse gnawed at his heart-strings day and night, 
and in his sleep Simon often heard him moan, “My 
God, can you forgive the greatest sinner in the world ?” 

At last they reached the outskirts of Memphis and 
camped for the night. The “Bishop” and Margey 
occupied the wagon while Simon slept on the ground 
by the fire. 

At the midnight hour a strange thing happened. A 
woman robed in white stood between the camp fire and 
the wagon. She came as noiselessly as a baby’s breath, 
and there was no apparent reason why her presence 
should have awakened Simon. He awoke, however, 
with a start. He gazed at the white robed figure awe- 


A Tale of Two Men 


35 


stricken. He uttered an exclamation of fear, and the 
figure turned a radiant face toward the old man. 

“It is I, Simon, you are not afraid of me, are you?” 

“No, young Missus, God bress yoah soul I ain’t 
afraid ob yo’, I knows yo’ ain’t dead, ’cept yoah body, 
an’ my body ain’t me, an’ yoah body ain’t yo’, case yo’ 
use to tell me dat, an’ I know it frum de Bible, too. 
What does yo’ want, honey, case I knows deys some 
pow’ful reason fer yo’ cumin’ back frum tudder side.” 

“I came to guide you, Simon, and while you may 
not see me often, perhaps never again, I will always be 
near you, and you will feel something within you tell¬ 
ing you where to go and what to do. Follow this in¬ 
ward voice, Simon, always, for it is the voice of your 
soul, and through your soul I will speak to you. It 
is through the soul that God speaks to man, and if you 
will allow Him He will always guide you in the right 
way.” 

“Oh, Missus, does yo’ reckon God would talk to a 
pore ign’ant ole nigger like me?” 

“Yes, Simon, He always talks to the pure in heart, 
and if there was ever a pure heart in this world it is 
yours.” 

The “Bishop” heard Simon’s voice, and listened fas¬ 
cinated. He peered out from the covered wagon, but 
could see no one except Simon, who knelt on the oppo¬ 
site side of the fire, his face toward the wagon, and on 
his face there was the rapt look of a saint. 

“Good-by, little Missus, good-by, tel we meet 
again,” the old man said, and for a long time he re¬ 
mained on his knees looking steadfastly toward the 
stars that were twinkling overhead. 

The “Bishop” was so moved by the scene that he 
called, “Simon, what is it? To whom are you talk¬ 
ing?” 


36 


The Bishop op the Ozarks 


“I’se done seed de glory ob de Lawd,” he exclaimed. 
“My young Missus come back from de tudder worl’ to 
guide us.” 

“It was only a dream, Simon. People do not 
return from the other side.” 

“Dat’s what yo’ an’ all de tudder preachers been 
preachin’, an’ yo’ des about killed yoah churches, ’case 
ef what yo’ say is so, den dey ain’t no tudder side, an’ 
when my young Missus died she was no moah. 

“Ef dey is a tudder side, an’ yo’ goes ovah, den dey 
ain’t no reason why yo’ can’t come back. De Bible 
say so, case my young Missus use to read it to me.” 

“That may have been so in the olden days; in the 
days of the prophets and miracles, but it will never 
be again.” 

“Den God has changed, an’ ef He changes He ain’t 
no God at all, but des a little bigger man dan de res’ ob 
us,” said Simon. “You wait an’ see! Deys gwine to 
be de powerfulest shakin’ ob de dry bones in de valley 
wid yo’ one ob dese days, an’ when de scales drap frum 
yoah eyes yo’ gwine to shout, ‘Glory hallyluyah’.” 

The next day the “Bishop” went into the city and 
bought a pair of mules and a new wagon. He also 
purchased additional clothing for himself, Margey and 
Simon, and provisions for a long journey. 

When he returned to the camp at night Simon was 
overjoyed. “I guess we kin go in style now,” he said, 
gleefully. “Dem mules kin pull us all up de wus hill 
in de Ozarks, an’ nevah know it.” 

“Why do you say the Ozarks, Simon? How do 
you know we are going there?” 

“Becase dat inward voice my young Missus tole 
me about done said, ‘Go to de Ozark mountains,’ an’ I 
think yo’ done heerd it, too.” 

“I haven’t heard any voice, Simon, and it’s a little 
queer that we have both reached the same conclusion, 


A Tale of Two Men 37 

but I had already made up my mind to go to the 
Ozarks.” 

“What yo’ think it wus dat made up yo’ min’ fer 
yo’?” asked Simon. 

The “Bishop” made no reply, but Simon’s question 
kept troubling him. The following day they sold the 
oxen and wagon to an old negro for a few dollars, and 
drove the spanking team of mules and new wagon 
through the streets of Memphis to the banks of the 
Mississippi river where they were to take the ferry 
boat that would land them on the Arkansas side. 

While waiting for the arrival of the boat the 
“Bishop” went to a nearby news stand and looked idly 
over the papers and magazines. His attention was 
drawn to the Birmingham “Age-Herald” which car¬ 
ried in big headlines the words: “THE TRAGIC 
END OF ALABAMA’S NOTED OUTLAW, TOM 
SULLIVAN—BY A STRANGE COINCIDENCE 
ROCKER CHAPMAN, FORMER NOTED BIR¬ 
MINGHAM DIVINE PLAYS A THRILLING 
ROLE IN THE TRAGEDY.” 

He bought a copy of the paper and thrust it in his 
pocket just as the ferry boat was landing. He was 
feverishly anxious to read the story, but restrained his 
impatience. He would wait until night when they 
were safely encamped in the swamps of Arkansas and 
read it by the glow of the camp fire. Perhaps he might 
read it aloud to Simon. Somehow he felt that Simon 
possessed a wisdom and understanding far beyond his 
own, and he instinctively felt that his destiny was now 
irrevocably linked with that of Margey and Simon. 

So it came to pass at the end of the day’s journey 
when they were settled around the camp fire of dry 
logs and Margey was sleeping snugly in the wagon, the 
“Bishop” drew the Birmingham paper from his pocket. 


38 


The Bishop of the Ozarics 


“I have something to read to you, Simon, if you 
would like to hear it. It vitally concerns us.” 

“Yas, sah, ‘Bishop,’ I’ll be pow’ful glad to listen, 
an’ I am shore dat we am de only folks in dese cane 
bottoms tonight.” 

In a low, well modulated voice the “Bishop” read 
the story embellished in the true reportorial fashion. 

“On Christmas eve night a tragedy was enacted 
about thirty-five miles from Birmingham, in the west¬ 
ern portion of Jefferson County that brought to an end 
the picturesque career of Tom Sullivan, noted train 
robber and highwayman who has been the terror of the 
mountains of Alabama for a number of years. His 
home was in Winston County in a region where few 
people lived, and these were all his friends and admir¬ 
ers. He lived in an inaccessible spot in one of the 
deep gorges of that section which could be reached 
only by a man on foot, or a sure-footed pony. 

“The officers of the law often tried to trap him in 
his lair, but were always unsuccessful. Finally, they 
resorted to a ruse that resulted in his arrest. They 
found a mountaineer who was willing to betray the 
bandit for a reward of several hundred dollars. This 
man went to Sullivan’s rendezvous at night and told 
him that a little boy of whom Sullivan was very fond 
was dying and calling piteously for the big outlaw. 
Touched by the man’s story, Sullivan left his hiding 
place and went with the traitor to the home of the 
supposedly dying child. As he was about to enter the 
house he was surrounded by a posse, disarmed and 
handcuffed. He was brought to Birmingham and 
lodged in jail. 

“He was tried, and given a sentence of twenty years 
in the penitentiary, and transferred to the coal mine 
at Flat Top, where the State’s convicts are worked. 


A Tale of Two Men 


39 


“He had served just five years when he made his 
escape. He was pursued and overtaken where he was 
hiding in a cabin on the line between Jefferson and 
Walker counties. He resisted arrest and was shot by 
his pursuers who, knowing his desperate character, 
took no chances. The Governor of the State has 
complimented them on their courage and cool judg¬ 
ment. 

“A remarkable coincidence is the fact that the Rev. 
Roger Chapman, once the most popular and eloquent 
preacher in Alabama was camping in the cabin with 
his infant child and an old negro servant. He, the old 
negro man and baby escaped from threatened death 
by the outlaw and fled into the nearby woods just as 
the posse came up and engaged in a duel to the death 
with Sullivan. 

“The next day, which was Christmas, the natives 
buried the outlaw, and Chapman officiated at the fun¬ 
eral. 

“It is the first time in several months that the Rev. 
Chapman has been heard of. It will be remembered 
that he had been chosen for consecration as a Bishop 
of the Birmingham Diocese, and the consecration cere¬ 
monies were almost concluded when he was seized by 
a sort of vertigo and fell unconscious. In this state he 
remained for hours, and the consecration ceremonies 
had to be postponed. The most skilled physicians 
were called in consultation, and were unable to 
diagnose his case. In a few days he was able to walk 
about, but a great change had come over him. He was 
like a different man altogether. His mind was evi¬ 
dently giving way, and he must have realized it, for 
he sent in his resignation as pastor of his church, and 
with his wife, Simon, and his infant child of six weeks 
of age, disappeared. 


40 The Bishop op the Ozarks 

“They wandered in the mountains of Alabama, 
Georgia and Tennessee, and he was totally lost to his 
former friends and admirers. At last the news filtered 
through that his wife, a most beautiful and accom¬ 
plished woman had died and been buried in a desolate 
spot in the mountains. 

“Nothing more was heard of him until the tragedy 
of Christmas eve night when Sullivan resisted the 
officers and was shot by them in self defense. 

“The day after Christmas, Chapman, his little girl, 
Margey, who is now about two years old, and the 
faithful old Simon took up their wanderings in an 
antiquated old wagon drawn by a yoke of ancient oxen. 
No one seems to know which direction they took, or 
their destination. Simon told the natives in answer 
to a question that they were ‘gwine ovah de long 
trail.’ It is the prayer of those who knew and loved 
Roger Chapman in his happier days, and their name is 
legion, that the ‘long trail’ may lead the tottering 
brain to rest and peace. 

“A striking feature of the unusual story is that the 
paths of the preacher and outlaw had crossed at least 
once before. It seems that the Rev. Chapman was a 
passenger on the Frisco road when Sullivan staged his 
last daring hold up. The story goes that when the 
bandit was relieving the passengers of their valuables 
and came to the minister, he said, 'Keep your money, 
Parson. You work mighty hard for what you get, and 
I never took money from a preacher, or woman yet, 
but I’m always taking it from other people and giving 
it to them.’ 

“Chapman was a witness for the prosecution at 
Sullivan’s trial, and was decidedly hostile. The outlaw, 
so the story goes, looked at the preacher with a merry 
twinkle in his eye as he passed near the defendant 


A Tale of Two Men 


41 


after testifying, and said, ‘Is that the way you return 
good for evil, Parson?’ 

“Now that Tom Sullivan has gone to reap his final 
reward, it may be of interest to our readers to know 
something of his better side. 

“Perhaps he was a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Per¬ 
haps we all are, in a measure. It may be that none 
of us are wholly bad. It is certain that none of us are 
altogether good. Even Jesus made no claim to perfec¬ 
tion. No one does except the Pharisees, and they can 
skip this part of my story. 

“In all his career Sullivan never took human life. 
He never robbed or insulted a woman, and not once 
was he ever heard to use an oath or take a drink of 
whiskey. The money he acquired as a highwayman 
was given freely to the poor and needy and to the 
carrying on of an extensive charity in the mountain 
country where he was loved and almost idolized. 

“More than one church was maintained by him, and 
numbers of ambitious boys and girls were aided by 
him to obtain an education. 

“Little children loved him intuitively, and women 
trusted him. He was big, brave, handsome, a giant 
in stature, but bore about in his big body a heart that 
beat with human sympathy, and the soul of a woman. 

“Peace to his ashes, rest to his soul! It may be 
quite unorthodox to say that I believe God’s mercy 
follows Tom Sullivan beyond the grave, but something 
tells me this is true. 

“If God is not this big, this generous, and noble, 
then He is less than my own father, and it would be 
easier to believe there is no God than to believe in 
such a God as the preachers tell us about. 

“It would be interesting to know what thoughts 
surged through the brain of the orthodox preacher as 


42 


The Bishop of the Ozarks 


he stood beside the open grave of the dead outlaw. 
But they are gone,—one on the trail that leads away 
from the busy world to a silent oblivion, perhaps; the 
other to the ‘Beautiful Isle of Somewhere/ where 
‘the clouds are lifted, and the angels wait’/’ 


CHAPTER IV 

The “Shepherd Woman” 

In an old hymn is a couplet that says: “God moves 
in a mysterious way His wonders to perform.” 

Our fathers and mothers back in the pioneer days 
used to sing it with much unction. They believed in 
a Providence that guided their footsteps. 

The prophets, the sages, the poets of all ages have, 
for the most part, held to the same belief. 

The saviors of the world have all claimed divine 
guidance. Take away this belief, and there would be 
nothing of literature, art, music or history worth the 
name. 

Deny to man the consolation of the God-presence 
and life becomes the great tragedy of the ages. 

Destroy the faith in a God, and a life as eternal as 
God’s, and of all creation man is the most miserable, 
for implanted in every soul is that eternal longing for 
God. 

Jesus, the Master of the ages, lived in the presence 
of this God-consciousness and felt this divine care and 
guidance. He promised to every human being the 
same wonderful presence, assuring us that we are all 
the Sons of God. He was often surrounded by min¬ 
istering spirits, as were countless others in all the 
ages of the past since man has been a living soul, and 
as countless millions will be through the un-numbered 
aeons to come. 

Then it is no miracle that the man wearing the dead 
preacher’s suit, old Simon, simple in faith and pure 
in heart, and Margey, the little child, should be guided, 
not alone by the spirit of Margey’s mother, but by 
God’s own spirit. 

It was not an accident or mere coincidence that the 


44 


The Bishop op the Ozarks 


three travelers found themselves a hundred miles from 
a railroad, in the heart of the Ozarks. 

It was no blind fate that led them to a spot, as little 
known, at that time to the big world outside, as the 
heart of Africa. 

It had been a hard day, and many steep hills had 
been climbed and many rough gorges crossed. At 
many places the road was not a road at all, but just 
a place where the fallen trees and logs had been 
removed from an old trail. 

Margey was tired and fretful. Simon dragged his 
feet like they were weighted with lead, while the man 
in the wagon felt that some impending disaster lay 
just beyond. A bitter wind blew from the East, accom¬ 
panied by an occasional gust of rain and sleet. 

Night was approaching and dark shadows from the 
thick forest seemed to close the road ahead to further 
progress. 

“I think we had better stop and make a camp fire, 
Simon,” spoke the man from the covered wagon. “I 
had hoped we might come upon some human habita¬ 
tion before nightfall where we could get some milk 
for the baby and, perhaps, a bed for her to sleep in, 
but it is getting too dark to go further. 

“I wonder how far it will be to the end of this 
journey we are taking without knowing why we are 
taking it, or where we are going?” 

“Sumthin’ tells me, ‘Bishop,’ dat we des about dah. 
An’ I don’ pester none erbout why we is gwine. I 
knowse we’ll find out all erbout de whys an’ de where- 
foahs at de right time. Oh, didn’t I tole yo’,” the old 
man exclaimed excitedly, “dah’s a sheep bell, an’ yon- 
dah is a light, too. Dah’s whah some good man or 
woman libs, case I ain’t nevah seen no bad man or 
woman tendin’ a flock ob sheep.” 


The “Shepherd Woman’' 


45 


Simon’s soliloquizing was cut short by the bounding 
of a big shepherd dog in front of the team. “Come 
here, Brave,” a man’s voice said, “let’s find out what 
our friends want before we stop them in the road.” 

“Whoa, dah, mules,” said Simon, “ain’t yo’ nebah 
gwine to stop? ’Peahs to me you’d be glad ob de 
oppertunity to res’ yousefs.” 

In answer to the “Bishop’s” inquiry the man who 
was standing in front of a log house with low, thatched 
roof, said that he was employed by the “Shepherd 
Woman” to look after her flock of sheep, and to per¬ 
form other services that might be required of him. 
His wife was a sort of companion and housekeeper 
for the “Shepherd Woman,” as well as looking after 
her own household duties. 

“What is the name of the lady whom you call the 
‘Shepherd Woman’?” asked the “Bishop.” 

“ ’Tain’t good manners to ax folks’ names in these 
diggin’s, stranger. Most of ’em when they come here 
leave their names behind. Everybody calls her the 
“Shepherd Woman” an’ I reckon it’s a purty good 
name, leastwise it’s the only name I ever heerd her 
called, an’ it’s one she goes by.” 

“Do you think I could get some milk for the child 
and a place for it to spend the night?” asked the man 
who had alighted from the wagon. 

“You sure can, pardner, accordin’ to my reckonin.' 
I ain’t never seen her turn nobody away yit, an’ I don’t 
believe she will now. You kin go right up thare to 
that house on the hill an’ ax her yoreself.” 

Without waiting for further parley the big man 
swung up the graveled path and knocked loudly at the 
door. As it swung open a flood of light from a big 
log fire that burned brightly in a big, open stone fire¬ 
place cast its welcome rays far out into the yard. 


46 


The Bishop of the Ozarks 


A woman with a wondrously beautiful face, but 
prematurely white hair, spoke to him in tones as soft 
as the notes of a lute. 

“Good evening, Tom Sullivan, I have been expect¬ 
ing you for the past hour. You must have been 
detained on your journey.” 

The giant man, still wearing the dead preacher’s 
clothing, shrank back into the shadows, staggered 
against a pine tree that grew almost in the doorway, 
clutched his throat with one hand, while with the other 
he groped in the dark as though he were about to fall. 
He tried to speak, but no sound came from his lips. 
He began to tremble, not from physical fear, for he 
had no fear for himself. He was awestricken, dumb¬ 
founded at being thus addressed. Surely the woman 
standing in the doorway was the spirit of someone who 
had known him in the old life. Perhaps Simon was 
warranted in his belief in spirits after all. Finding 
that no words would come to his dry lips, he stood 
motionless, waiting for the spirit or woman, as the 
case might be, to address him again. 

“I see that you are quite taken aback,” the musical 
voice spoke, “and I did not intend to startle you. I 
had reasons for calling your name that you will fully 
understand later. For the moment let me say that 
you have nothing to fear, and that I have called you 
by the old name for the last time. Henceforth, you 
will be known as ‘The Bishop of the Ozarks’.” 

“It is quite useless, Madam, for me to deny my 
identity or attempt any subterfuge,” said the man. 
“I have no desire to do so on my own account, and 
when I have told you the circumstances you will not 
judge me too harshly, I trust, for you doubtless know 
that the name you have just addressed me by stands 
for Alabama’s notorious highwayman.” 


The "Shepherd Woman” 


47 


“The same person that gave me your name also 
told me the entire story, so that you need not repeat 
it. Go and bring baby Margey to the house, and my 
man will assist Simon about his team, and see that 
he has a warm supper and is made comfortable.” 

The big man still leaned against the pine tree incap¬ 
able of motion. How could this woman who seemed 
to have the knowledge of his identity also know that 
Margey and Simon awaited him at the wagon. 

“Hurry along, ‘Bishop/ and bring the child here. 
She must be quite starved with only you and Simon to 
look after her. Don’t stand there staring at me like 
I was a ghost. I am nothing half so romantic, but 
just an ordinary flesh and blood woman.” 

She laughed, a rippling, sunny laugh, and the 
spell that held the man as though bound to the pine 
tree was broken, and he strode out of the light cast 
by the fire of hickory logs toward the wagon. 

* * * 

Margey had been “fed up” on goat’s milk until she 
refused another spoonful, and was now sleeping snugly 
in a comfortable bed, for the first time in many weeks. 

Simon was nodding in the kitchen by a big bed of 
live coals, raising his head occasionally as though 
listening for someone whom he was expecting. 

The doors were shut, the window blinds drawn, 
and the man who was to become the “Bishop of the 
Ozarks” sat by the roaring fire, waiting for the myste¬ 
rious woman to clear up the multitude of questions 
that arose in his mind. The room in which he sat 
was a large commodious one, richly furnished with 
costly rugs on the floor, while a number of unusual 
paintings hung on the wall. 

A piano of exquisite design occupied one corner 
of the room, while rows of books reached more than 


48 


Ths Bishop op the Ozarks 


half way around it. He observed that one painting 
hung in a sort of alcove, hidden by the shadows, and 
beneath it what looked like a miniature altar. To find 
such artistic taste, such luxurious appointments in the 
Ozark wilderness was such an amazing thing that the 
man reclining in the easy chair wondered if it were 
all a dream. He was brought back to a sense of reality 
by the entrance of the woman, who held in her hands 
a pile of manuscripts and letters which she placed on 
the table. 

Taking her seat beside the table, she said: “I sup¬ 
pose that all sorts of questions are passing through 
your mind, and many of them I could anticipate, even 
if I were unable to read them in your sub-conscious 
mind. Having startled you as I did when you first 
arrived, it is due you that I tell you the story that I 
am now going to recount to you. When I have fin¬ 
ished I shall be glad to answer any questions that you 
may ask me, except as to my identity. For the present 
I must remain the ‘Shepherd Woman’ just as I am 
to the people here in the Ozarks. You have no doubt 
heard it said that fact is stranger than fiction. I am 
going to tell you nothing but facts, and I am sure 
you have never found anything more remarkable in 
fiction. 

“Once upon a time,” as the stories used to begin, “I 
was a girl about fifteen years of age, and lived in 
Philadelphia. It was just after the close of the Civil 
War in which I had lost my two brothers. There 
were but three of us, and I being the youngest and the 
only girl, was petted and terribly spoiled by my 
brothers, and was very much devoted to them and 
very proud of them when they marched away in their 
new uniforms to fight for the Union. 

“When they were both killed in battle it almost 
broke my heart, and for a long time I was inconsolable. 


The "Shepherd Woman” 


49 


At that time a great many people were interested in 
Spiritualism, and I began to attend seances. Being 
young and imaginative I was greatly impressed, and 
in a little while I developed the power of automatic 
writing. Through this method I began to get messages 
from my brothers, as I then believed, and still believe. 
I have enough of them to make a big volume, and 
will show them to you some time. 

"A remarkable thing about these messages is that 
they are in the handwriting of my brothers, just as 
distinctly and characteristically as though actually 
written by them. 

"One evening I was at a seance when a most un¬ 
usual man came into the room. I at once recognized in 
him a great personality, even before I knew his name. 
When I had been introduced to the Hon. Carl Schurz 
my girlish enthusiasm rose to the highest pitch. 

"He no doubt sensed my great admiration for him, 
and he must have found in me something that appealed 
to him, for there grew up a beautiful friendship 
between us that lasted until his death, as we have 
learned to call the passing of the man out of his body. 

"Mr. Schurz was not a Spiritualist, nor was he a 
believer at that time in so-called spirit communica¬ 
tion, so he was not prepared for the remarkable mes¬ 
sage he received from the spirit world during the 
evening. 

"From that hour my interest in what we call Spirit¬ 
ualism, and Spirit Communication, grew by leaps and 
bounds. I carried on a correspondence with Mr. 
Schurz as long as he lived, seeing him only occasion¬ 
ally, for his was a busy life, and our fields of activity 
carried us far apart. 

"When he was writing his memoirs, that were later 
published by Doubleday, Page & Company, he wrote 


50 


The Bishop op the Ozarks 


me a letter enclosing this article, saying it was a 
carbon copy of something he had written for his 
memoirs. He asked me to read it, and give him my 
recollection of just what occurred at the seance which 
he refers to. 

“My recollection coincided with his, and I so wrote 
him. I am going to read it to you for the reason that 
I consider it one of the most probative pieces of evi¬ 
dence of Spirit Communication that has ever come 
under my observation. It reads as follows: 

“ ‘On the way to Washington something strange 
happened to me which may be of interest to the specu¬ 
lative psychologist. 

“ T went from Bethlehem to Philadelphia in the 
afternoon with the intention of taking the midnight 
train to Washington. At Philadelphia I took supper at 
the house of my intimate friend, Dr. Tiedmann, the son 
of the eminent professor of medicine at the University 
of Heidelberg, and brother of the Colonel Tiedmann, 
one of whose aides-de-camp I had been during the 
siege of the fortress of Rostatt in 1849. 

“ ‘Mrs. Tiedmann was a sister of Friedrich Hicker, 
the famous revolutionary leader in Germany, who in 
this country did distinguished service as a Union offi¬ 
cer. The Tiedmanns had lost two sons in our army, 
one in Kansas, and the other, a darling boy, in the 
Shenandoah valley. 

“ ‘The mother, a lady of bright mind and a lively 
imagination, happened to become acquainted with a 
circle of Spiritualists, and received “messages” from 
her two sons, which were of the ordinary sort, but 
moved her so much that she became a believer. The 
doctor, too, although belonging to a school of philoso¬ 
phy which looked down upon such things with a certain 
disdain, could not restrain a sentimental interest in 
the pretended communications from his lost boys, and 


The “Shepherd Woman" 


51 


permitted spiritualistic experiments to be made in his 
family. This was done with much zest. 

“ ‘On the evening I speak of, it was resolved to have 
a seance. One of the daughters, an uncommonly 
beautiful, intelligent and high spirited girl of about 
fifteen, had shown remarkable qualities as a “writing 
medium." 

“ ‘When the circle was formed around the table, 
hands touching, a shiver seemed to pass over her, her 
fingers began to twitch, she grasped a pencil held out to 
her and, as if obeying an irresistible impulse, she wrote 
in a jerky way upon a piece of paper placed before her 
the “messages" given her by the “spirits" that hap¬ 
pened to be present. So it happened that evening 
the names of various deceased persons known to the 
family were announced, but they had nothing to say 
except that they “lived in a higher sphere," and were 
“happy" and “were often with us," and “wished us 
all to be happy," etc. 

“ ‘Finally, I was asked by one of the family if I 
would not take part in the proceeding by calling some 
spirit in whom I took an interest. I consented, and 
called for the spirit of Schiller. For a minute or two 
the hand of the girl remained quiet, then she wrote that 
the spirit of Schiller had come, and asked what I 
wished of him. I answered that I wished him, by 
way of identification, to quote a verse or two from 
one of his works. Then the girl wrote in German the 
following: 

“ ‘Ich hore rauschende Musik. Das schlossist von 
lichtern hell. Wer sind die frohlichen? 

“ ‘(Gay music strikes my ear. The castle is aglow 
with lights. Who are the revelers?) 

“ ‘We were all struck with astonishment. The 
sound of the language was much like Schiller’s, but 
none of us remembered for a moment in which of 


52 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


Schiller’s works the lines might be found. At last it 
occurred to me that they might be in the last act of 
“Wallenstein’s Tod.” The volume was brought out, 
and true enough, there they were. I wondered if it 
could be that this girl who, although very bright, had 
never been given to much reading, should have read so 
serious a work as “Wallenstein’s Death,” and if she 
had, that those verses which have meaning only in con¬ 
nection with what precedes and follows them, should 
have stuck in her memory? I asked her when the 
seance was over, what she knew about the “Wallenstein 
tragedy,” and she, an entirely truthful child, answered 
that she had never read a line of it. 

“ ‘But something still stranger was in store for me, 
Schiller’s spirit would say no more, and I called for 
the spirit of Abraham Lincoln. Several minutes 
elapsed when the girl wrote that Abraham Lincoln’s 
spirit was present. I asked whether he knew for what 
purpose President Johnson had summoned me to 
Washington. The answer came, “He wants you to 
make an important journey for him.” I asked where 
that journey would take me. Answer: “He will tell 
you tomorrow.” I asked further whether I should 
undertake that journey. Answer: “Yes, do not fail.” 
(I may add, by the way, that at the time I had not 
the slightest anticipation as to what President John¬ 
son’s intention with regard to me was, that he wished 
to discuss with me points urged in my letters.) 

“ ‘Having disposed of this matter I asked whether 
the spirit of Lincoln had anything more to say to me. 
The answer came: “Yes, you will be a senator of the 
United 'States.” This struck me as so fanciful that 
I could hardly suppress a laugh. But I asked further, 
“From what state?” Answer: “From Missouri.” 
This was more provokingly mysterious still; but there 
the conversation ended. Hardly anything could have 


The "Shepherd Woman" 


53 


been more improbable at that time than that I should 
be a senator of the United States from the State of 
Missouri. My domicile was in Wisconsin, and I was 
then thinking of returning there. I had never thought 
of removing from Wisconsin to Missouri, and there 
was not the slightest prospect of my ever doing so, 
but—to forestall my narrative—two years later I was 
surprised by an entirely unsought and unexpected busi¬ 
ness proposition which took me to St. Louis, and in 
January, 1869, the Legislature of Missouri elected 
me a senator of the United States. I then remembered 
the prophecy made to me at the spirit seance in the 
house of my friend Tiedmann in Philadelphia, which 
during the intervening years had never been thought of. 

“ T have given here my own experience, but do not 
offer any theory or hypothesis upon which to 
explain it/ 

"Since Mr. Schurz passed to the Spirit world he has 
often talked to me about this experience, and says it 
is past belief that man combats with all his might the 
doctrine of Spirit Communication, when it is the only 
proof positive that we can have in the Earth life that 
man survives the transition called death. 

"I have read this to you as a prelude to other start¬ 
ling things I am going to tell you, because it is essen¬ 
tial that you should believe, nay that you should know 
this the greatest and most vital truth of all the ages. 

" Tf a man die, shall he live again?’ is an age old 
question, and one around which revolves the destiny 
of the race. 

"As you will learn later you are to be a tremendous 
factor in vitalizing the truth and bringing it to the 
ministry and the churches, and at the threshold of 
your preparation for this stupendous task, you must 
have a taste of that knowledge of which, if a man once 
drinks, he can never doubt again. 


54 


The Bishop op the Ozarks 


“When I came into this wilderness three years ago, 
I knew that I was being led by the spirit, but I failed 
to grasp my mission to the fullest extent. I thought 
it was in order that I might be prepared to give the 
truth to the world in books. This was only partially 
true. I now know that a big part of my mission is 
to help in preparing you for your wonderful work. 
Tonight you are to receive your first lesson, and to 
be shown a vision so vast, so far reaching that it will 
stagger your imagination. 

“I have been writing since I came here, as the spirit 
moved me. I have the manuscript for more than 
one book, but the time has not come for their pub¬ 
lication. 

“My first book will be made up of communications 
that I have received from more than a hundred per¬ 
sons on the other side. Among the number I may 
name Abraham Lincoln, Henry Ward Beecher, Theo¬ 
dore Parker, Phillips Brooks, Daniel Webster, Dr. 
Talmage, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Mr. Gladstone and 
Charles Spurgeon. 

“There are just as many different varieties of hand¬ 
writing as there are communicants. In every instance 
the handwriting is identical with that of the purported 
sender of the messages, so far as I have been able to 
ascertain. 

“The messages coming from Horace Greeley, for 
instance, are almost illegible, while those coming from 
Washington are in his well known painstaking hand¬ 
writing. Some of the messages are in foreign lan¬ 
guages with which I am unacquainted. 

“It is my purpose to have photographic reproduc¬ 
tions of these messages in my first book, accompanied 
by authenticated specimens of the handwriting of the 
senders, wherever that is obtainable. 


The "Shepherd Woman” 


55 


"A few evenings since, I received this communica¬ 
tion signed ‘Roger Chapman.’ It relates the tragic hap¬ 
penings in the cabin on Christmas eve night back in the 
mountains of Alabama. He tells of his bitterness 
toward you when he first passed out of the Earth life, 
and says that at first he could not realize that he had 
passed over. In time, however, he realized the change. 
Now he is with his beautiful wife, and she it is who 
guided your footsteps to this place. He quite under¬ 
stands now that his tragic taking off was not an acci¬ 
dent. He had created the conditions himself that made 
it inevitable. His passing was a part of the plan for 
the great work that was his to do, which he failed to 
do because of his narrow sectarian bigotry. The work 
must be done, he says, and God always finds his mes¬ 
senger when his time is fully come. 

"He says his spiritual eyes are now open, and he 
rejoices because you are to do what he might have 
done. He speaks tenderly of Margey and says he 
and his wife entrust her with the greatest joy to you, 
faithful old Simon and me. He further promises his 
aid and prayers in the great work on which you are 
now entering.” 

The "Shepherd Woman” paused, and for a long 
time no sound was to be heard save the crackling of the 
fire, the moaning of the East wind and the rattle of 
the rain and sleet against the window panes. At last 
the man spoke, and his voice was husky with emotion. 

"My mother was a devout Christian,” he said, "and 
tried to instil the principles of Jesus into my heart. 
I early learned to love Him, and I never saw the day 
when I could not say with all my heart, ‘My Jesus, 
I love Thee!’ but there has always been that some¬ 
thing in me that caused me to wander away from 
the straight and narrow path. Tonight, I feel my sin 
and shame more poignantly than ever before in my 


56 The Bishop of the Ozarks 

life, and I can only say, ‘God, be merciful to me a 
sinner! 

Ignoring his self abasement the “Shepherd Woman” 
sketched the work that he was to do in the wilds of 
the Ozarks, and after that in the great world where 
men and women strive for fame, power and riches, 
grasping blindly for something that will bring happi¬ 
ness, to find in their hands empty nothingness. 

“There is but one force in all the world,” she said, 
“capable of saving the world from crass materialism 
and bringing it back to God and the spiritual life, and 
it is your glorious privilege to be a leader in this 
stupendously important work.” 

The man was spellbound by the bigness of her 
vision, the witchery of her faith, but overwhelmed at 
the thought of his unworthiness and lack of training 
for such an undertaking. 

“Oh, I cannot, I dare not think of such a thing!” 
he said. “I feel that I am the chief of sinners and not 
worthy to take the name of God on my lips. How 
can He ever forgive me for the past?” 

“Jesus had power on earth to forgive sins,” the 
“Woman” answered. “He died that it might be easier 
for us to be forgiven. God is not angry with you, 
but you have been angry with Him. Forgiveness of 
sin simply means that you are no longer angry with 
God; that your attitude toward Him has changed 
from one of rebellion and hate to one of love and 
harmony. God ever stands waiting to welcome His 
children back into that beautiful relationship of oneness 
with Him. Jesus died, not to reconcile God to man, 
but to reconcile man to God.” 

As she spoke, she took the broken spirited man by 
the hand and led him to the little altar that stood before 
the painting hanging in the alcove in the wall, hidden 
by the shadows. Then she brought a light and placed 


The "Shepherd Woman” 


57 


it so the man could get a good view of the painting. 
It was the figure of Christ on the cross, and beneath 
it the words, "Father, forgive them!” 

The man staggered to his knees beside the altar, 
hid his face with his two big hands and began to sob. 

The "Shepherd Woman” went softly to the piano 
and ran her hands gently over the keys. Then in a 
voice that soothed and thrilled the aching heart of the 
man, she sang in a tone just audible throughout the big 
room: 

"I love to tell the story 
Of unseen things above, 

Of Jesus and His glory, 

Of Jesus and His love.” 

The big man ceased to sob. He raised his eyes to 
the face of the bleeding Saviour, a look of divine peace 
overspreading his countenance. 

The woman came and stood beside him. Placing 
her hand gently on his head, she said: "In the name 
of my Master I declare thy sins are forgiven!” 


CHAPTER V 
Happy Valley 

Twenty years have elapsed since the tragic Christ¬ 
mas eve when the hunted convict compelled Roger 
Chapman to exchange suits with him. 

Twenty years is but a moment in the annals of the 
ages, but in the life of a man it may mark the begin¬ 
ning and completion of a gigantic work. Rather it 
would be nearer the truth to say the beginning and 
fruition, but not the completion, for no great spiritual 
work is ever completed. It goes on and on, growing 
and bearing fruit throughout the eternities. 

In less than twenty years Father Junipero Serra 
built the California missions and Christianized the 
Indians. 

The active ministry of Jesus of Nazareth covered 
a period of less than five years at most, but the work 
He accomplished is so stupendous, so far reaching, that 
its final chapter cannot be written until he has drawn 
all men unto Himself. His beloved disciple said: 

“And there are also many other things which Jesus 
did, the which, if they should be written, everyone, I 
suppose that even the world itself could not contain 
the books that should be written.” 

When we remember that the spirit world is the 
world of reality and this material world is but the 
shadow or reflection, we can grasp faintly what John 
meant. For all the things that materialize on this 
plane have already taken place in the spiritual realm, 
and he could truthfully say, looking down the ages, 
that all the Master’s works would fill the world with 
books. 

The miracle of love wrought in the hearts of mil¬ 
lions by the life, suffering and death of Jesus could 


Happy Valley 


59 


not be written by all the scribes who have ever penned 
a line. 

This miracle of love, of sacrifice, is being wrought 
in the hearts of millions today, and will be in all the 
tomorrows to come until there is not left one selfish 
aching heart in all God’s universe. 

Twenty years had wrought a mighty change in 
Happy Valley, and those who dwelt there. It had 
brought the railroad to within ten miles, and in the 
early morning when all nature seemed just awakening 
from sleep, and sounds traveled long distances, the 
scream of the overland express could be heard as it 
passed Happy Valley station ten miles away. 

The “Bishop of the Ozarks” had grown in spiritual 
stature until his name was a household word through¬ 
out the Ozark mountains. 

Margey Chapman had grown up to a glorious young 
womanhood, crowned with a rare beauty, and a per¬ 
sonality that compelled all who came within the sphere 
of her influence to love her. 

The “Shepherd Woman” had played a big part in 
the lives of the “Bishop” and Margey, as well as the 
development of Happy Valley. 

Simon had changed little, except that his hair was 
snow white, but his face showed no more signs of age 
than it did twenty years previously. It may have been 
a little more serene and saint like, if that were pos¬ 
sible. His passion was Margey, and the Lee and 
Gordon blood. In her he saw human perfections that 
were impossible of attainment except by the blending 
of the blood of the Gordons and Lees of “Ole Vir- 
ginny.” 

Simon was perfectly satisfied and happy in Happy 
Valley, because Margey was there, and “de Bishop,” 
also, for next to Margey, “de Bishop” was the most 
perfect person in the world. 


60 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


On one occasion Margey surprised Simon picking 
his banjo and singing, “Carry me back to old Vir- 
ginny,” and asked him if he ever wanted to go back 
to his old home. 

“No, honey, not for myself, case dey all gone what 
ever knowed ole Simon, but I des lak to see you back 
’mong de ’stocracy de fines’ lady in all Virginny, befo’ 
I die.” 

It was in the month of May that a well dressed 
stranger stepped from the overland limited and asked 
the station agent if he could get a conveyance to Hap¬ 
py Valley. He was directed to a tall, raw-boned 
mountaineer who was in the act of biting a chew from 
a plug of tobacco. 

“Buck Garret drives the stage that carries the 
mail,” said the agent, “and you may be able to per¬ 
suade him to take you along.” 

When approached on the subject the gentleman 
answering to the name of “Buck” responded in a not 
unpleasant drawl, “Well, I’m purty well filled up al¬ 
ready, Stranger. The inside seats is all done took by 
a passel of Motion Picture folks who is gwine up to 
make pictures of our Valley. If you kin put up with 
the outside you kin set in the seat with me. It ain’t bad 
on the outside a Spring mornin’ lak this with the trees 
all green an’ the flowers growin’ all over the woods 
plum’ down to the side of the road.” 

The stranger accepted the outside seat with alac¬ 
rity, and he and Buck were soon quite well acquainted. 

“I reckon I mout ax who you is, Stranger, bein’s as 
I don’t know you, an’ got Uncle Sam’s mail in my 
keer.” 

“I am the Governor of Alabama,” said his pas¬ 
senger, “out here on what you would call a ‘wild goose 
chase.’ ” 


Happy Valley 


61 


“The Governor of Alabama! The hell you say! 
I ax your pardin, Governor, that one slipped. I done 
cut that sort of langwage a long time ago. I jest 
meant I wondered if you are after anybody in Happy 
Valley an’ who it is an’ what he done.” 

“Oh, no,” said the stranger, “I am not after any one 
in the way you think. I saw a motion picture of 
scenes in Happy Valley and in the picture was a face 
I can never forget as long as I live, and I have come 
here to see if I am mistaken.” 

Garrett laughed a big hearty guffaw as he winked 
slyly, and poked the Governor in the ribs with his 
elbow. 

“Well, she may be there, Governor, an’ she may 
not. It ain’t laic it use to be when we wus a hundred 
mile frum nowhere. In them days afore she cum an’ 
then he cum they wasn’t no body ever come except 
bad uns, but now they are cornin’ an’ gwine all the 
time, makin’ movin’ pictures, paintin’ scenery, writin’ 
books an’ every tother sort of didoes you kin think of. 
So she’s more’n likely been there an’ got tuck in a 
picter. La, they tuck me once an’ called me the ’rig- 
inal bad man of Devil’s Den.” 

Again Buck laughed so loud and so long that one 
of the inside passengers said, “The man on the outside 
must be telling Buck some good yarns.” 

“Anyhow, Governor, ef she ain’t there you needn’t 
be disappointed becase we got some of the purtyest 
ones in the world an’ I am gwine to say THE purtyest 
an’ the smartest outside of jail.” 

“What is the name of this prodigy,” laughingly 
enquired the Governor. 

“Prody-hell!” exclaimed Buck. “I don’t know 
what you mean, but ef you mean to throw off on her 
you better be keerful.” 


62 


The: Bishop op the Ozarks 


“Prodigy means unusual—nobody else like her,” 
said the Governor, greatly amused by Garrett’s dis¬ 
play of extreme sensitiveness. 

“Wall, now, you said a mouthful, Governor, for 
they ain’t nobody lak Margey, an’ you’ll say so yo’self 
when you see her.” 

“Who is she, Mr. Garrett, and what is her other 
name ?” 

“Call me just plain Buck, Governor, an’ I kin talk 
to you better. She ain’t got no tother name that I 
knowse of. She’s the ‘Bishop’s’ darter, an’ everybody 
in a hundred miles knows him.” 

“Well, who is the ‘Bishop’?” persisted the Gover¬ 
nor. “What is his name?” 

“His name, let me see! Why I reckon he ain’t got 
no name ’cept the ‘Bishop of the Ozarks.’ I ain’t never 
heerd him called nuthin’ else an’ I guess that’s it. 

“You see when he cum here twenty years ago no¬ 
body here had their right names becase we all left ’em 
behind fer some reason er another. I never tuk my 
right name fer several years after the woman an’ him 
too cum.” 

“Whom do you mean when you say the ‘woman/ 
and ‘him’ ?” asked the Governor. 

“Course I oughter know that you don’t know, bein’ 
as you is a stranger. The woman is the ‘Shepherd 
Woman,’ and the man is the ‘Bishop of the Ozarks.’ ” 

“But who is this ‘Shepherd Woman,’ Buck? What 
is her name?” 

“Gosh durned ef I know. Never thought about it 
afore. We didn’t use to ax nobody’s names when 
they come to Devil’s Den. Maybe they left their 
names back whare they cum from, an’ ef they did it 
ain’t anybody’s durned business.” 

“It don’t matter, Buck, I am sure, but I want you 
to tell me all about this ‘Bishop of the Ozarks,’ the 


Happy Valley 


63 


‘Shepherd Woman’ and your beautiful prodigy, and 
how you came to change the name of your valley from 
Devil’s Den to Happy Valley.” 

The team had reached the top of a steep slope they 
had been ascending for more than a mile, and now the 
driver stopped and pointed away to the distant land¬ 
scape. 

“Thare she lays, Governor. Look at her! Ef 
Moses could a seed it he shore never would a died 
happy without goin’ over, becase ef God ever made a 
‘Promised Land’ thare she is before yore eyes. 

“Look way yonder to the North as fur as you kin 
see where the big mountain shets off the sky. That’s 
tother end of the valley where Steamboat river busts 
right out at the foot of the mountain. She’s big enough 
to float a steamboat, an’ that’s why we call it ‘Steam¬ 
boat river.’ Then you look down yander to the South 
where she cuts through the mountains. That’s the 
tother end of the valley. The long way she’s about ten 
miles, but the tother way she ain’t more’n two miles 
wide, but they ain’t a foot of land that ain’t as rich as 
any a crow ever flew over.” 

“Now fer the land of Caanan,” said Buck, with 
much enthusiasm, as he began the descent into Happy 
Valley. 

“You see, Governor, it was this way. Way back 
yander this was a wilderness an’ nobody didn’t know 
nuthin’ about it, ’cept them that was hunted. When¬ 
ever a feller in Missouri or Arkansas done something 
an’ the sheriff got to huntin’ him he lit out fer tall tim¬ 
ber, an’ generly landed in Devil’s Den, an’ ef the officer 
cum in after his man he never went back home no 
more. 

“I wus one of the fust to come, an’ I reckon they 
never wus a wus cuss in the world. They kept a cum- 


64 


The Bishop oE the Ozarics 


in’, an’ in a few years we had the wust den of rattle¬ 
snakes in the world. That’s what we wus, Governor, 
rattlesnakes ! Pizen ! Why we wuz as pizen as hell! 
Wild cat whiskey, bad money, horse thieves, cut¬ 
throats, jest everything that was bad. They wa’n’t a 
woman in the Den, an’ I reckon they wa’n’t but 
one in the world that would a cum, an’ that wus her. 
Yes, I mean the ‘Shepherd Woman.’ She cum one day 
a follerin’ a passel of sheep, an’ said she reckon she 
must be lost. Then she lowed it wus the most beau¬ 
tiful valley in the world an’ she lowed she wus gwine 
to stay an’ raise her sheep. 

“We wus all so set back we didn't know what to 
say, so we jest said nuthin’ an’ she stayed. An’ there 
never wus a man, bad uns as we wus, that ever spoke 
a unkind word to her. An’ they wa’n’t a man that 
wouldn’t a fit fer her at the drap of a hat. 

“We helped her build her house, her sheep corrals 
an’ everything. After which she begun to bring in 
such fine furniture, books, picters an’ things that we 
knowed she wus some fine lady from some’rs what 
wanted to fergit her name, so we give her one, the 
‘Shepherd Woman,’ an’ she must a liked it becase she 
ain’t never took no other. 

“Things rocked along in about the same old way 
until he cum, him an’ the baby gal an’ the nigger.” 

“Was there a negro man with him?” eagerly en¬ 
quired the Governor. 

“There sho wus, Governor.” 

“And did he have a name, Buck?” 

“Yes, pardner, he an’ the gal wus the fust that 
ever brung their names with ’em.” 

“What is his name?” 

“His name is ‘Simon,’ an’ he’s the only nigger that 
ever stayed in the Devil’s Den. Ef it hadn’t been fer 
the man he wouldn’t a stayed, ’er the man either.” 


Happy Valley 


65 


“How did he happen to stay?” enquired the Gov¬ 
ernor. “Tell me about it.” 

“Wall you see it were this way. We fellers in the 
Den didn’t want no outsiders, specially niggers an’ 
parsons. So when he cum bringin’ a nigger with him 
we jest natchelly notified ’em to hit the grit, never 
doubtin’ but what they would go so fast they would 
be hard to ketch. But they never budged a peg, so we 
called a meetin’ an’ decided to give ’em a good whip- 
pin’ an’ ef that didn’t do, then hang ’em. We’d a hung 
’em at fust but on account of the 'Shepherd Woman’ 
we’d decided to give ’em a white man’s chance. 

“Wall, sir, we went one night to wait on ’em. They 
wus stayin’ up at the sheep ranch, not havin’ their own 
cabin built yit. We called ’em out but the 'Shepherd 
Woman’ pleaded with us, but it done no good. We told 
her we wa’n’t goin’ to have no dirty nigger nosin’ 
round, bringin’ social quality. An’ as fer a parson, 
tellin’ us how God hated us, an’ wus gwine to send us 
all to hell, we wouldn’t stand fer it. We all knowed 
it, anyhow, an’ didn’t want to be told about it. 

“The man, he talked some, too, but we laughed at 
him, an’ two or three of us grabbed him, an’ two more 
fellers ketched hold of the nigger. Then sumthin’ hap¬ 
pened that sprised us wuser than a earthquake. 

“The man pulled two of the biggest pistols I ever 
seed. The barrels looked like young cannons, an’ afore 
you could bat yore eye all of us wus lookin’ right down 
the muzzles an’ you could almost see the bullets. I 
never seed sech a change in a man in all my born 
days. 

“When he wus pleadin’ with us his voice wus gen¬ 
tle as a little dove, an’ his eyes as soft as a fawn’s, but 
when he pulled that ar pair of guns, his voice sounded 
like somebody filin’ a saw, an’ his eyes shined like a 
pant’er’s. 


66 


The: Bishop of the Ozarks 


“He said, ‘Just move a inch an’ I’ll shoot.’ Then he 
said, ‘Up with yore hands, quick F 

“Say, Governor, I’ve looked into the eyes of lots of 
bad uns, ’an I learnt to see ‘shoot’ in their eyes, ef 
they meant shoot when they said so. You know they 
don’t alius mean it. But I never seed as much shoot 
in no man’s eyes as they wus in his’n, an’ my hands 
went up an’ all the other fellers stuck ’em up. 

“Then he said, ‘Git down on yore knees! We are 
goin’ to pray an’ ax God about it.’ This was too much 
fer me, an’ bein’ a sort of bell wether among the boys, 
I said, ‘I’ll be damned ef I do!’ 

“Then he said, ‘You’ll be damned ef you don’t, an’ 
it’ll take place when I count three!’ Then the parson 
begin to count, kinda slow an’ steady. ‘One,’ an’ it 
sounded like cold steel, an’ I see he was lookin’ me in 
the eye. He opened his lips to say three, but afore he 
could say the first part of it my knees jest natchelly 
went back on me an’ I was down on the ground afore 
I could help myself, an’ the other fellers’ knees all 
went back on ’em same as mine done. 

“Then he begin to pray, but I noticed that he kept 
his eyes open an’ them two big pistols pintin’ straight 
at the bunch—mostly at me, it seemed. 

“Say, boss, I use to hear parsons pray when I wus 
a youngster afore my bad days, but this beat anything 
I had ever heerd. His voice was soft as a woman’s, 
an’ I felt like the man’s heart was plum’ ready to 
break. He talked to God jest lak he wus talkin’ to 
the best friend in the world. 

“Before he got through I wus plum’ locoed, an’ I 
could hear some of the fellers sobbin’ lak big kids. I 
had to swaller pow’ful hard myself. 

“When he said, ‘Amen,’ they didn’t none of us git 
up offin our knees. It ’peared lak we didn’t want to. 
Then he handed his guns to Simon an’ says, ‘Take ’em 


Happy Valley 


67 


away, Simon, we won’t ever need ’em no more.’ Then 
he said, ‘Git up, men, I want to shake hands with 
you.’ 

“When he tuk me by the hand I felt somethin’ run 
all through me. It wus the queerest feelin’ I ever had. 
He put his left hand kinda round my neck an’ rested 
it on tother shoulder, an’ I jest felt lak huggin’ him. 
He done all the other fellers the same way, an’ when 
he said, ‘Good night,’ an’ tole us he would preach at 
the woman’s house the next day, we all said we’d be 
there. An’ we wus there, too, the whole bunch of us, 
an’ it wus sech a sermon as no other man in the world 
could preach ’cept him. I kin see him an’ hear him 
now! 

“It wus in the woman’s big room, an’ it ware 
packed full of as bad a bunch as wus ever hung. 
When he got done we all knelt down an’ he pulled a 
curtain to one side an’ showed us a picter hangin’ on 
the wall. 

“He said, ‘This is a picter of Christ on the Cross. 
He died to show men like you an’ me how much He 
loved us. I’ve been tougher than the toughest one in 
the bunch, but His love brought me to God. He is jest 
waitin’ fer you to turn from your evil ways an’ come 
back home. God ain’t mad at you. You are angry 
with Him.’ 

“Then the woman went to the piano and played a 
piece an’ sung it while she played. I know that no 
angel ever sung as sweet as she done. The song wus 
about a wandering boy. That hit every one of us, for 
we wus all wanderin’ boys, an’ most of us had mothers 
somewhere, waitin’ an’ prayin’ fer us. 

“It were more’n we could stand, an’ it were wuser 
than a old fashioned camp meetin’. When it wus all 
over, he said, ‘Men, what do you say to changin’ the 


68 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


name of our beautiful valley? It ain’t ever goin to 
be the “Devil’s Den” no more. What shall we call it?’ 

“Then I spoke up an’ says, ‘Parson, let’s call it 
“Happy Valley,” becase you have give us somethin’ 
that makes us all so happy.’ 

“So that’s how it got its name, an’ after that we all 
tuck our names that we had almost fergot, we hadn’t 
used ’em fer so long. 

“As time went on the ‘Bishop,’ as we all called him, 
got pardons fer us, an’ most of us went back to our 
old homes an’ seed our mammys an’ married the 
sweethearts that wus waitin’ fer us, an’ them that wus 
already married brought their wives an’ kids back 
with ’em. 

“The ‘Bishop’ has been daddy an’ mammy, preacher 
an’ doctor, teacher an’ judge, an’ almost Jesus Christ 
to everybody in the Valley. When anybody gits sick 
they send fer the ‘Bishop’ an’ he prays an’ lays his 
hands on ’em, an’ they git well. When anybody gits in 
a fuss he sends fer ’em, takes ’em into the chapel where 
a big picter of Jesus on the cross hangs on the wall, 
lays his hands on their heads, an’ it’s all off. They 
ain’t no more fussin’. 

“When the babies come the women send fer the 
‘Shepherd Woman,’ an’ she tends to ’em jest as keerful 
as she does to her lambs when they come into the 
world on a stormy night. 

“No, siree, we ain’t got no doctors, no drug stores 
an’ no wild cat whiskey. 

“The ‘Bishop’ says, when yore thinkin’ right you’ll 
live right, an’ ef you’re livin’ right you don’t need doc¬ 
tors, drugs an’ booze. 

“An’ everybody loves him, men, women an’ chil¬ 
dren. Yes, the dogs all love him, an’ they ain’t a dog 
in the Valley that wouldn’t grieve hisself to death if 
the ‘Bishop’ died. 


Happy Valley 


69 


“It’s been only twenty years, Governor, but in that 
time he’s changed this place to a heaven on earth. 

“No, sir, I don’t want no better heaven than Happy 
Valley. Why, do you know ef all the rest of the world 
was sunk in the middle of the ocean we could go right 
on livin’ in Happy Valley? We grow everything we 
eat, an’ make everything we wear. 

“You see the big mill over there where we grind 
our corn an’ wheat, an’ card our wool fer the women to 
weave into cloth. We make our furniture an’ shoes, 
hats, wagons, buggies an’ everything. I am expectin’ 
the ‘Bishop’ to start a automobile factory, an’ it 
wouldn’t sprise me ef we went to makin’ flyin’ ma¬ 
chines. 

“When it comes to schools, we got the world 
skinned. The ‘Shepherd Woman’ was eddicated in the 
finest colleges in this country an’ Europe, an’ she is 
the head of our schools. She kin play the pianner, 
paint picters an’ write books jest as good as she kin 
tend a flock of sheep. 

“She taught Margey, the ‘Bishop’s’ gal, an’ I reckon 
she’s the smartest gal in the world. She ain’t never 
been out of Happy Valley, but when she does go, 
folks’ll see the finest young woman they ever seed. 

“The ‘Bishop’ ain’t never set foot outside this Valley 
sence he come here. The big bugs been cornin’ in here 
for the last five years, tryin’ to git him to go to Lon¬ 
don, New York, an’ all the big cities to preach, but he 
always says, No, he is satisfied in Happy Valley. 

“I’m a feared he’ll be tempted to go away an’ leave 
us sometime, specially on account of Miss Margey. Ef 
he ever does, there’ll be more mournin’ than when 
Herod had all the first born kids killed, what the Bible 
tells about. 

“Of course, Happy Valley will have to live without 
him some day, when he’s gone over yander, but his 


70 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


spirit will still be here, an’ they be folks that kin see 
and talk to spirits, an’ I am shore the ‘Bishop’ will find 
some way to talk to us when he gits on tother side, an’ 
tell us all about it. 

“I believe he talks to them over there now, an’ I am 
shore he talks to God, an’ God understands him, an’ 
gives him whatever he axes fer. You know, Governor, 
he don’t ax fer nuthin’ fer hisself, it’s all fer us.” 

Buck Garrett could have talked a year and a day 
about the “Bishop of the Ozarks.” The “Bishop” was 
the master passion of his life, and his unlettered tongue 
grew eloquent as though touched by Divine fire when 
he could get a sympathetic hearer to his praise of the 
man who had brought peace and joy to his sin-sick, 
turbulent spirit. 

The stage had now reached the post office, and the 
Governor alighted, after asking Buck to point out the 
way to the “Bishop’s” residence. 

“Jest up yander, Governor, on that little hill. He 
built there so’s he could see over every foot of this 
Valley. 

“I see old Simon workin’ in the yard. He can tell 
you where you kin find the ‘Bishop.’ ” 

The Governor of Alabama climbed the hill toward 
the house where this far famed “Bishop of the 
Ozarks” lived, with mingled feelings that it would have 
been difficult for him to analyze. 

It seemed to him that he was on a “wild goose 
chase,” as he had told Buck Garrett. It was hardly 
possible that the “Bishop of the Ozarks,” as he was 
affectionately called by his devoted followers, could be 
the man he was seeking. And even if he should be 
the man he had in mind, why did he leave his duties 
at Montgomery to come to the heart of the Ozarks to 
seek him? 


Happy Valley 


71 


Now that he was at the end of his quest, he felt 
that he could find no possible reason or excuse for this 
foolish trip from Alabama to Happy Valley. 

It was no wonder that Garrett surmised he was 
seeking the face of some beautiful woman. 

It was not a woman’s face, however, that lured 
him from his home and duties as Governor of his 
State. It was the face of a man. He had seen the 
face on the screen in a picture made in Happy Valley, 
and it had haunted him, waking and sleeping, until 
there was nothing for him to do but come to this spot 
and learn the truth. 

It was the noblest face he had ever seen. It held 
the strength of a Caesar, and the gentleness of a 
Madonna. 

The eyes were filled with a spiritual light that 
seemed to penetrate the soul, and when the Governor 
looked at the man on the screen the eyes seemed to be 
looking directly at him. Now that he tried for the 
hundredth time to analyze his reason for this strange 
trip he thought it must be the appeal of those wonder¬ 
ful eyes. 

At any rate he was at the end of his rainbow. 
Would he be rewarded by finding a heart of gold or 
a man of clay? 

His musings were cut short by old Simon who, see¬ 
ing a stranger approaching, laid down his hoe, wiped 
the perspiration from his brow and said, “Is you look¬ 
in’ fer de ‘Bishop’ ?” 

The Governor’s heart beat faster. He experienced 
a thrill of expectancy as he looked at the old negro 
with snow white locks. 

“Yes,” he replied, “I think he is the person I am 
looking for, especially if you are the Simon Gordon I 
once knew in Birmingham, Alabama.” 


72 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


Simon showed great agitation. 

During all these twenty years in Happy Valley the 
old negro had feared the arrival of a stranger from 
Birmingham looking for the “Bishop.” This fear had 
never passed his lips, but it haunted the old man like 
a ghost. 

Within the last five years this fear had been gradu¬ 
ally leaving him, and of late he had thanked God that 
it was now almost gone. 

This rude awakening left the old negro speechless. 

Seeing his perturbation the stranger said, “I was 
a young lawyer twenty years ago in Birmingham, and 
was a member of Saint Paul’s Episcopal Church of 
which Roger Chapman was pastor, and Simon Gordon 
janitor. You are the exact image of Simon, and it is 
Roger Chapman I am seeking.” 

“What does you want wid him, boss?” the old 
man exclaimed, unable to hide his alarm. 

“I hardly know myself, Simon, until I have seen 
and talked with him. I saw his face in a motion pic¬ 
ture, and something just drew me to this place, and 
now I feel quite like a fool for having come. But you 
haven’t answered my question yet. Are you the Simon 
X knew in Birmingham?” 

The old man shifted uneasily from one foot to the 
other, breathing hard, his hand trembling violently as 
he raised it to his forehead as if in pain. He mois¬ 
tened his lips several times as though this were neces¬ 
sary before he could speak. 

Should he tell a lie to this man and turn him back 
from his quest without seeing the “Bishop of the 
Ozarks ’? If he told the truth, what dire consequences 
might follow? Yes, he would tell the truth even if 
the heavens fell, for that is what the “Bishop” would 
have him do. 


Happy Valley 


73 


At last he said, “Yes, boss, I’se de same Simon 
what you knowed in Birmingham, an’ de ‘Bishop ob de 
Ozarks’ am de man youse lookin’ fer.” 

“Well this is wonderful!” exclaimed the man. 
“Surely there must be some great reason for my mak¬ 
ing this trip.” 

“Does you believe in sperits, Mister ?” asked 
Simon. 

“Well, not exactly, Simon, but there are some 
things I can’t explain without the spirit hypothesis.” 

“I don’ know what you mean by dat ‘hypotha- 
disease.’ Dat’s a new sort ob disease to me, but I low 
dat some good sperit done bring you heah, an’ dat some 
great thing cornin’ out ob it. 

“Who shall I tell de ‘Bishop’ is honaherin’ him by 
dis visit?” 

“Just tell him the Governor of Alabama desires the 
honor of meeting the ‘Bishop of the Ozarks,’ ” an¬ 
swered the stranger. 

“De Govenah ob Alabama!” exclaimed the old 
negro, again showing extreme agitation. “For de 
Lawd’s sake!” 

“I am quite harmless here in the Ozarks, Simon. I 
have no more power than the humblest dweller in 
Happy Valley.” 

“Well, Govenah I’se pow’ful glad to see you, but 
I wants to tell you dat de ‘Bishop’ is changed so much 
you won’t know him skersley. His hair done turned 
white as snow, an’ he ain’t got no mind fer what hap¬ 
pened befo’ he come to Happy Valley. He done clean 
fergot most everything befo’ dat time, so I lak to ax 
you not to talk to him erbout de past. 

“You know he los’ his min’ entirely aftah he had 
dat faintin’ spell when dey was makin’ him a Bishop, 
so dat he don’t membah much erbout it. Corse I been 


74 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


tellin’ him a lot erbout it all dese years, but sometimes 
he gits mixed up an’ it won't do no good to ’sturb his 
min’ erbout de pas’ whah he buried my young Missus, 
an’ so many ob his troubles.” 

In answer to Simon’s knock the “Bishop of the 
Ozarks” opened the door, looking kindly at the 
stranger. 

“Dis am de Govenah ob Alabama,” announced 
Simon in his most obsequious manner. 

“I welcome you to Happy Valley, Governor,” ex¬ 
claimed the “Bishop,” grasping the stranger warmly by 
both hands. 

“I am doubly honored,” said the Governor, “at 
meeting the ‘Bishop of the Ozarks,’ and at the same 
time my friend and former pastor, Roger Chapman.” 


CHAPTER VI 
The Call of the World 

The ‘‘Bishop of the Ozarks” was not surprised 
when the Governor of Alabama came to Happy Valley. 
Nothing ever seemed to surprise or startle him. He 
was as calm and serene as the eternal peaks of the 
Ozarks. Whatever inward fires and passions may 
have raged in his heart in the past seemed to have 
burned out, and now there gleamed steadily the great 
white light of love. Of him the Poet could have said: 

“As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 

Swells from the vale and midway leaves 
the storm, 

Though round its breast the rolling clouds 
are spread, 

Eternal sunshine settles on its head.” 

Such was the “Bishop of the Ozarks” who talked 
long into the night with the Governor of Alabama. 
Little was said about the past, but they dwelt for the 
most part on the present and the future. 

Margey had returned in the late afternoon from 
one of her horseback rides along the beautiful lanes 
of Happy Valley. The Governor marveled at her 
poise; her perfect beauty as she alighted from her 
beautiful thoroughbred saddle horse which had been 
presented to her by the “Shepherd Woman,” whose 
mysterious supply of money seemed never to fail. 

Margey wore a well fitting riding habit, fashioned 
by her own hands. 

“Yes, I made it,” she explained to the Governor in 
answer to his admiring glances. “When I first dis¬ 
carded my side-saddle and began to ride astride, the 
folks in Happy Valley were terribly shocked; even dad 
looked askance,” she declared, laughing, as she patted 
the “Bishop’s” cheek affectionately. 


76 


The; Bishop op the Ozarks 


“He is such a dear dad, though, that he let his 
awful daughter have her way, and now all the girls 
ride astride like I do. 

“Buck Garrett says we will keep the side-saddles 
to show the children of the coming generations how 
their grandmothers used to ride.” 

Margey presided at the supper table with all the 
grace of a Southern queen of the old days “befo’ de 
wah,” as Simon would say. 

After supper she played the piano for the Gover¬ 
nor, and he was thrilled as he had rarely been in his 
life, for Margey was a real musician with the soul of 
an artist. She told the Governor that she had never 
been beyond Happy Valley and its environment in her 
life. 

“Where did you acquire your education and ac¬ 
complishments?” exclaimed the Governor. 

“Well, they don’t amount to very much,” she said. 
“My dad has helped me in my books, and the ‘Shep¬ 
herd Woman’ taught me music and other things.” 

The Governor wanted to know about the “Shep¬ 
herd Woman,” and Margey promised that he might 
see her for himself and learn from her whatever se¬ 
crets of her history she might want to divulge. 

“Yes, I am very happy here,” Margey declared, in 
answer to a question by the Governor, “but there are 
times when I long to ride away on Brown Hal beyond 
the distant mountain peaks and see the great world. 1 
have talked to dad about it a few times, but when I 
have done so I have always seen such a look of pain 
cross his dear face that I decided never to mention it 
again. 

“There is some reason why the thought of it hurts 
him, and I would rather live and die right here than 
give him one moment’s pain. He is the most wonder- 


The: Call of the World 


77 


ful daddy in the world, and he has redeemed this 
Valley. It is a paradise on earth if there ever was 
one, and the people worship him, and well they may! 
He is a true savior and would gladly lay down his 
life to make me or his people happy, and if my remain¬ 
ing here by his side and aiding him in his work brings 
happiness to him, it is as little as I can do for him, 
who has done so much for me and the others here.” 

Long after Margey was asleep, as the Governor 
and “Bishop” talked of many things, the Governor 
spoke to him of his conversation with Margey. He 
suggested that the big world needed both the “Bishop” 
and his daughter. 

“Your work seems to be completed here, ‘Bishop,’ 
and I feel that you have found something that belongs 
to the world. Whatever the secret is, you have trans¬ 
formed one of the most lawless spots on earth. If you 
can give that secret to the world you will be a bene¬ 
factor to mankind. 

“I know that few men have ever done what you 
have already accomplished, but your work has just 
begun. You are now in the prime of life, ripened by 
experience, and the great world is calling you. 

“Come back to Birmingham and be consecrated a 
Bishop. Our church is without a pastor and would 
welcome you with outstretched arms. Your work here 
will be carried on by others while you go forth to sow 
the seed in new fields. 

“You also owe it to your wonderful daughter. The 
blood of the Lees and the Gordons mingles in her 
veins. It is the noblest blood in the land, and she is 
a true daughter of noble ancestors.” 

All this, and much more the Governor said. So 
enthused was he that he failed to see the look of agony 
on his host’s face, or note the terror in his eyes. To all 
his arguments and persuasion the “Bishop of the 


78 


The) Bishop op the Ozarics 


Ozarks” listened in silence. Finally, when the Gover¬ 
nor had exhausted his arguments his host said: 

“Governor, you have painted a very alluring pic¬ 
ture, but it is one that does not appeal to me. Aside 
from the part that Margey plays in the picture, I 
would not look at it a second time. For her sake I 
would make any sacrifice. I feel keenly that the world 
holds much for her, and that I am perhaps a selfish 
stumbling-block. I, too, sometimes feel that there is a 
greater work for me beyond these hills, and I have 
tried to be ready for it whenever I felt called by the 
Spirit to go forth from here. 

“I have no desire to be consecrated a real Bishop. 
I prefer to remain the ‘Bishop of the Ozarks.’ I would 
feel it a great honor to be called as pastor of your 
beautiful Saint Paul’s cathedral in Birmingham, but I 
have no such desire or ambition. My work is not as 
a preacher, but as a teacher. As a pastor of a church 
I would be handicapped. 

“As the ‘Bishop of the Ozarks’ I have been a teach¬ 
er, a sort of Shepherd of the Sheep, and in that capac¬ 
ity I have learned some great truths. I would not be 
allowed to teach these truths from an orthodox pulpit, 
and I would not stultify myself by keeping silent. 

“There is but one way you could tempt me to leave 
here, and that I am sure you would not do.” 

“What is it?” eagerly enquired the Governor. “I 
will do anything in my power to bring you back to 
Alabama and into the big world that needs you.” 

“When I came here twenty years ago, Governor, 
there was not a more lawless spot in the South than 
this beautiful valley. It was called ‘Devil’s Den’ 
because it was filled with a lot of as desperate crim¬ 
inals as could be found in any penitentiary in the land. 
They were guilty of every crime known to the law. 


The Call oe the World 


79 


“Today there is not a more peaceful, law-abiding 
spot on the globe, and you won’t find a happier, more 
contented people this side of Heaven. Every criminal 
in Devil’s Den became a good, useful citizen; a patriot 
and an honor to his country. 

“I was an humble instrument in helping them work 
out their salvation, and in helping them I have helped 
myself most of all. I have long dreamed of applying 
in a larger way the truth which worked out our re¬ 
demption here.’ 

“The men in your penitentiary in Alabama, Gover¬ 
nor, are just the same sort of men I found in the 
Devil’s Den; no better, no worse. 

“When they have served their time, they return to 
their homes in nine cases out of ten worse men than 
when the penitentiary doors first closed behind them. 

“In many cases while they have been serving their 
sentences their families have suffered, and their boys 
and girls, in many instances have become criminals. 

“Crime is on the increase all the time, and the only 
remedy suggested is more laws and greater punish¬ 
ment. It don’t seem to occur to our law-makers, 
preachers and philanthropic people in general that 
there is a cure for all this crime that is rampant in the 
world today. 

“The remedy ought to be preached from every pul¬ 
pit in the land until crime shall be banished, along with 
sin and disease, but the pulpit stands today as one of 
the greatest barriers to the teaching of the truth that 
will lift this awful curse from the world. 

“Instead of that, the preachers denounce crime and 
call loudly for more laws, more prisons, severer pun¬ 
ishment. 

“What we call sin, sickness and crime, all have the 
same source. One is just as easily cured as the other. 


80 


The Bishop of the Ozarks 


Christ recognized this. He understood that sin under¬ 
lies both crime and disease. Understanding this, He 
said to the diseased man, ‘Thy sins be forgiven thee.’ 
When rebuked, He answered, ‘Whether it is easier to 
say “thy sins be forgiven thee” or to say “take up thy 
bed and walk”?’ And this for the very good reason, 
the scientific reason if you will, that when the man's 
sins were forgiven he could take up his bed and walk. 

“Just so He cast out devils, and the mad man dwell¬ 
ing in the tombs was clothed and in his right mind. 

“Crime, disease and sin are abnormal. They arise 
from being out of tune with the Divine Spirit. When¬ 
ever a man's soul can be attuned to the soul of the 
Divine, his sin is forgiven, his disease healed, his crim¬ 
inal tendency placed in its coffin. 

“Now, if we properly understood the law of man's 
being as Christ understood it, and apply it to the lives 
of our so called criminals they can be cured. That is 
what I learned to do in my work here. If universally 
applied it would empty every penitentiary in the land 
and send every convict home a good citizen, and a 
lover of God and his fellow man. 

“Then if the truth could be preached from every 
pulpit, and taught in every school, the time would come 
when the world would be just as free from crime and 
disease as Happy Valley is. And you can be assured 
that where there is no crime or disease there is no sin, 
for sin had to be first overcome.” 

“What becomes of the doctrine of ‘original sin’?” 
asked the Governor. “You know that has been in¬ 
stilled into us from infancy, and your statements are 
quite startling.” 

“That is a part and parcel of the Church’s mate¬ 
rialistic conception of God and man, and is too long 
a story for our present purpose. 


The Call oe the World 


81 


“I am leading up to my proposal, which is, briefly, 
that you as Governor of Alabama temporarily parole 
and put in my charge a certain number of the most 
desperate convicts in the penitentiary, allowing me a 
free hand to do with them as I please. From time to 
time turn over additional men to me as I am ready to 
take care of them, and when the penitentiary is emptied 
I want you to ask the Alabama Legislature to adopt my 
method in treating all prisoners. If you will do this, 
I will consider leaving my work here in other hands, 
and going back to Alabama.” 

The Governor was startled by the radical views of 
the “Bishop.” He knew that what he asked would 
create a howl among the politicians and preachers, and 
that the press of the State would criticise him severely. 

In his heart he believed this man was right, for 
did he not have the overwhelming proof here in Happy 
Valley? Something seemed to urge him to make the 
experiment. 

“I am going to do what you ask me to do,” said he. 
“I don't know just why I am doing it, but there seems 
to be some holy presence here urging me to act on 
your suggestion. What that something is, I don't 
know, but I am going to heed its voice, and pray God 
that it may be the beginning of a great work that will 
bring to the world what I find here in Happy Valley.” 

“Amen,” said the “Bishop.” “Let us ask Divine 
guidance, that I may be led to a proper decision.” 

The two men, the Governor of his State, and the 
Bishop of the peaceful valley knelt in humility beneath 
a wonderful painting of Christ on the Cross that hung 
suspended from the wall. 

After the “Bishop” had shown the Governor to his 
room he returned to his study where he and the Gov¬ 
ernor had spent the evening. For a long time he sat 


82 The Bishop op the Ozarics 

before the fire in a profound reverie. His whole life 
passed in review before him. When he reached the 
Christmas eve night twenty years ago when he, a 
hunted convict sought shelter in a cabin where he 
found Roger Chapman, his face became distorted with 
agony. 

He arose from his chair and paced restlessly up 
and down the room, pausing occasionally before the 
painting of Christ on the cross. 

His agitation grew until his whole being seemed 
shaken by an inward tempest. His face grew ashen, 
his lips were dry, while his eyes seemed to be burning 
from their sockets. 

Nervously he unlocked a closet and pulled from its 
hiding place a small, much battered and ancient ap¬ 
pearing trunk. He looked around furtively as though 
he feared some one might intrude. Nervously he 
pushed the trunk back into the closet and tiptoed from 
the room, passing through a door to the room where 
Margey slept. 

Turning on a light he stood gazing at her beautiful 
face in peaceful sleep, for a moment, and seemingly 
satisfied he returned to his study and once more pulled 
the ancient trunk from its hiding place. This time he 
placed his hand inside his shirt and found a small key 
that he seemed to wear around his neck, and proceeded 
to unlock the trunk. With trembling hands he drew 
from it the old, threadbare minister’s suit worn by 
Roger Chapman on that fateful Christmas eve night. 
Lovingly, gently he laid it aside and once more placed 
his hand in the trunk. This time he brought forth 
the convict suit that he had compelled Roger Chapman 
to don so that he might escape his pursuers. 

He examined the blood stains and thrust his fingers 
into the bullet holes that had cost Chapman his life. 


The: Call of the: World 


83 


As he did so, the surging volcano within, so long pent 
up, burst its bounds and the strong man fell on his 
face, clasping the convict suit in his hands. 

Thus he remained sobbing and did not hear the 
light footfalls of Margey as she rushed, badly fright¬ 
ened, into the room. 

Seeing the “Bishop” prostrate on the floor, weeping 
she was seized with terror. Falling upon her knees 
beside him she began to cry hysterically, “Oh, daddy! 
Daddy ! Did he kill you ?” 

At the sound of Margey’s voice the man’s heart 
stood still. The thing he feared had come upon him. 
He had been fighting the terrible battle he had fought 
a thousand times. Tonight he had about made up his 
mind to tell the Governor everything and return to the 
penitentiary to serve out his term, but at the crucial 
moment Margey had found him in his agony. He tried 
to speak, but his lips refused to form the words that 
were in his heart. 

He would tell her. He would make a complete con¬ 
fession, even if it broke Margey’s heart. Margey took 
his head in her arms and kissed him again and again. 

“Oh, you are not dead, my noble daddy! You 
must have fainted. It was all a dream, such a horrible 
dream, and when I awoke I was so frightened I fled 
to you. Let me help you arise, my poor, dear Daddy, 
and then I will tell you all about my dream, and you 
can tell me what dreadful thing has happened to you.” 

Lending him all her vigorous young strength she 
assisted the prostrate man to his: feet and led him to 
his easy chair. Pulling a low stool beside his chair 
and taking one of his big hands between her fine 
patrician fingers, she said: 

“Oh, it was such a terrible dream, so realistic that 
I cannot realize now that it was only a dream. 


84 


The: Bishop of the Ozarks 


“I dreamed that a large man, just your size, looking 
ever so much like you, came rushing into your study 
like a hunted wild beast. He had on a convict suit, 
and it looked just like that one on the floor. He said 
he was starving, and you went to the pantry and 
brought him some cold food. He ate it like a hungry 
dog, and when it was. all consumed he turned on you 
and cursed you. Then a horrible thing happened. He 
seized you by the throat and there was a terrible strug¬ 
gle. You cried, ‘Help! Help!’ but I was frozen to the 
spot and could not move. You struggled tremen¬ 
dously, but the convict seemed to possess the strength 
of a demon. You gradually grew weaker, your knees 
gave way, you fell in a heap to the floor, and I knew 
you were dead. 

“The convict stood there laughing a horrible laugh, 
pointing toward you. I hid my eyes and screamed. 

“Then I looked again and you had on the convict 
suit, the convict had on your suit and lay upon the 
floor, dead, and you were kneeling beside him, weep¬ 
ing. 

“Then I awoke, weeping, choking with agony and 
fear. I could hardly stand when I first got out of bed, 
I was so frightened, but I managed to balance myself, 
and then I flew to you to find you lying on your face, 
this terrible convict suit grasped in your hands. What 
does it all mean, daddy? Tell me! Tell me! There 
must be something dreadful the matter.” 

At last the shaken man became outwardly calm. 
The ashen look was leaving his face, and the sweet 
smile for which he was famous, more sad than Margey 
had ever seen it, again lighted up his features. 

In a voice still a little uncertain he said, “I cannot 
explain tonight, my child, the tragedy of this convict 
suit. It is not God’s will that you know it yet. When 


The: Call of the: World 


85 


it is His time, I will tell you. I will say this to you: 
This suit brings back to me the great tragedy of my 
life, and yours, too. I keep it as an everlasting 
reminder of God’s goodness and mercy. It has played 
a tremendous part in my life, and I feel that it will 
continue to do so. Tonight the Governor of Alabama 
has offered to turn over to me men in the penitentiary 
who wear this badge of shame and dishonor, and allow 
me to show them the road to salvation and peace. 

“I was trying to decide what to do, asking God’s 
guidance. In my perplexity I brought this tragic con¬ 
vict suit from its hiding place, and was overcome by 
the memories it aroused. This must have had some¬ 
thing to do with your dream. 

“Now I am going to ask you, my child, if I shall 
go to Alabama and take up the work of freeing those 
poor, unfortunate men of their dispositions to commit 
crime, and lead them into the light as we have done 
here in Happy Valley?” 

“Oh, daddy! Daddy!” Margey exclaimed en¬ 
thusiastically, “let’s go, and I will help you. I would 
rather do that work than to be a queen on a throne.” 

“It is God’s will,” reverently exclaimed the 
“Bishop,” “and we will go to Alabama.” 


CHAPTER VII 
Margey 

Margey Chapman was a queenly young woman. 
Queenly in stature, in features, in deportment. She 
was considerably above the medium height, with dark 
complexion, black hair, eyes as soft as a gazelle’s at 
times, and anon as fierce as a tiger’s. 

Her heart went out to every human being in dis¬ 
tress, and there was no sacrifice she would not make 
for others. 

Her presence brought sunshine wherever she went, 
and next to the “Bishop” she was the best beloved per¬ 
son in Happy Valley. 

When the time came for the “Bishop,” Margey, and 
Simon to say farewell to the Happy Valley people 
there was an outburst of sorrow such as is seldom wit¬ 
nessed in this world. 

The entire population gathered at the “Bishop’s” 
home to say the last good-by, and the pain of that 
leave-taking left an ache in the heart of every one, 
that would remain through all the years to come. 

The “Bishop” gave the people his blessing, many of 
them kneeling as he spoke the feeling words of fare¬ 
well. 

Margey was swept by a great love and pity for 
these dear ones, and her grief racked her very soul. 

Old Simon stood near by unable to render other 
aid than to “weep with those who mourned.” 

The hardened bandits of twenty years ago were 
not ashamed of their grief, nor did they try to conceal 
their tears. 

“Here I am blubberin’ lak a kid,” said Buck Gar¬ 
rett, “an’ I don’t keer who knows it. I wouldn’t be half 
as sorry ef it wus my own funeral. I’m gwine erlong 


Margery 


87 


with the folks to Birmingham to stay a spell an’ look 
after Brown Hal, an’ git him city broke fer Miss Mar- 
gey an’ then I’ll come back, becase I couldn’t live no- 
whare but in Happy Valley. But when I come back 
I know it’s gwine to be lonesome, so lonesome I don’t 
see how I kin stand it.” 

The big man placed his hands over his face while 
sobs shook his stalwart frame. 

At last the procession moved away, Margey riding 
Brown Hal, the people straining their eyes for a last 
glimpse, and waving a tearful farewell. 

The “Shepherd Woman” was to accompany Mar¬ 
gey to Birmingham and remain until she became ad¬ 
justed to her new environment. 

The “Shepherd Woman” had not been beyond the 
confines of Happy Valley for more than twenty years, 
and it was with many contending emotions she con¬ 
templated a glimpse into the great world in which she 
had at one time in her life played a big part. To every 
one she was still the “Shepherd Woman,” and the 
tongues of the curious had long since ceased to wag 
about her identity. To no one had she told her life 
story except to the “Bishop,” and with him it was as 
safe as his own secret was with her. 

She had been a fairy mother to Margey from that 
winter night when Tom Sullivan, the escaped convict, 
knelt before the painting of Christ on the cross, and 
prayed. She had watched over her education and 
knew the real Margey far better than any one did 
except Simon. Simon also understood Margey, and 
both he and the “Shepherd Woman” could have told 
the “Bishop” of certain tendencies and characteristics 
that would have been a revelation to him. 

The “Shepherd Woman” feared the effect on Mar¬ 
gey of her contact with the great world she was about 


88 


The; Bishop op the Ozarks 


to enter. From early childhood Margey had mani¬ 
fested a dual nature. As she grew older this duality 
grew more pronounced until, at times, she seemed to 
be two personalities. One of these personalities was 
highly spiritual, intensely religious, a lover of all that 
was good and beautiful. 

The other was a splendid animal, fond of outdoor 
life, eager for a wild ride through a storm in the moun¬ 
tains, fearing not an encounter with a mountain lion 
or other wild beast. 

When under the influence of the spiritual person¬ 
ality she improvised on her piano the most ravishing 
music, and her eyes reflected the soul of the mystic. 

Again she would don the costume of a Scottish 
Highlander, and marching up and down her music 
room, would execute on the Scottish bagpipes such 
warlike airs as “The Campbells are coming.” At such 
a time her eyes would flash, her step assume a military 
air, and if the “Shepherd Woman” or Simon happened 
to surprise her she would greet them with a wild 
laugh. 

“Don’t tell my daddy,” she would say, “he might 
not understand. I don’t mean anything wrong, but 
something seems to get hold of me and I just have 
to give vent to this wild feeling. It must be in my 
blood. I wonder who or what I am, anyway. 

“You ought to know, iSimon. Won’t you please 
tell me?” 

“Well, now, honey, dat am de bigges’ job dis nigger 
evah undertook, becase you is so much dat a whole 
book wouldn’t tell it.” 

At this extravagant statement Margey laughed 
heartily. 

“Oh, Simon, you are such a wonderful old flatterer! 
I don’t think that honey would melt in your mouth 
when you want to say nice things.” 


Margery 


89 


“Dey ain’t nuffin’ too nice to say erbout you,” per¬ 
sisted Simon, “becase youse a Gordon an’ Lee bofe, an’ 
dey ain’t no king or queen what evah had as good blood 
as de Lees an’ de Gordons. You see youah grand- 
daddy Gordon married youah grandmammy, who was 
a Lee, bofe of ole Virginny. 

“I belonged to youah granddaddy Gordon befo’ de 
wah, and when youah ma married youah pa I des 
natchelly stayed wid her becase ole Massa an’ ole 
Missus dead, an’ youah ma need me, an’ I des couldn’t 
lib nowhah ’cept wid de Gordons an’ Lees. 

“De Gordons was Scotch, an’ I spect dat’s why you 
wear dat outlandish outfit an’ play dem bagpipes dat 
sound lak a wild sperit shriekin’ fru de pine trees in 
de winter time. I spect it in youah blood, honey. 

“An’ dah’s anotha thing in youah blood, an’ dat is 
pure ’stocracy. Yes, sah, youse a thoroughbred an’ 
high stepper des as natchelly as Brown Hal is. 

“You’d a been a fine lady ef you’d a been born an’ 
raised in Africa an’ now you gwine out into de work 
to show ’em sumthin’ dat will make folks open dey 
eyes.” 

“I don’t know anything about the olden times you 
speak of, Simon. Were you a slave, and are you glad 
to be free ?” 

“I belonged to Massa Gordon, youah grandpa, but 
I lots freer dan I is now. Law, honey, dem wus de 
happies’ days ob my life. We lib on a big plantation 
right out frum Lexington, Virginny, an’ de Jacksons, 
de Stuarts an’ lots ob de bes’ quality lib dah. Dey wus 
all good to dey niggers, an’ dey wus all de happies’ 
folks I evah seen—jest lak de folks in Happy Valley. 

“We didn’t work very hard—des enough to gib us 
a good appetite. An’ we had good close to wear, an' 
de fines’ eatin’ in de lan’. 


90 


The Bishop oE the Ozarks 


“We had our churches an’ our Sunday Schools, an’ 
we shore did enjoy our religion. 

“Gen’ral Stonewall Jackson used to come to our 
Sunday School an’ talk to us an’ he could beat a reg’- 
lar preacher. An’ when it come to prayin’ he could 
beat anybody I evah heerd ’cept de ‘Bishop.’ He used 
to give us money to run our own Sunday School, an’ 
when he went to de wah he kept sendin’ money until 
he got killed. 

“Lawd, I nevah heerd such moahrnin’ an’ takin’ on 
among de niggers as I heerd when de news come dat 
Gen’ral Jackson wus shot. It was sumthin’ terrible. 
Well, it’s no wondah, fer he wus de bes’ friend we 
evah had. 

“I remembah one mornin’ ole Missus sent me up 
to de Post Office to git de mail. Dat wus befo’ 
Gen’ral Jackson got killed. It wus a day or two aftah 
de battle ob Manassas, an’ eberybody wus anxious for 
de news. Dah wus a big crowd waitin’ at de office. De 
Post Mastah handed Parson White a lettah sayin’, ‘It 
is from Gen’ral Jackson. Eberybody ’eludin’ niggers 
crowded round to heah de news, an’ dis is de lettah 
what Gen’ral Jackson wrote: ‘My dear Pastor: In 
my tent last night after a hard day’s service I mem- 
bahed dat I failed to send you my contribution fer our 
colored Sunday School. I am sending you my check 
fer dat purpose.’ It wus signed ‘J. T. Jackson,’ an’ 
dat wus all dar wus in de lettah. He nevah said a word 
erbout de big battle dat he had fought, des all erbout 
de Sunday School. No wondah we all tuck on so 
when he wus killed.” 

One day, after they had reached Birmingham and 
were settled in their new home, and fifty convicts had 
been released from the penitentiary under temporary 
parole in the custody of the “Bishop of the Ozarks,” 
Margey came to Simon in great distress. 


Marge y 


91 


“Why do these men have to wear those dreadful 
convict stripes?” she asked. “I never see a man 
clothed in that terrible garb without a feeling of fear 
and dread clutching my heart. It reminds me of a 
dreadful dream I had, and a dreadful thing I wit¬ 
nessed. I have wanted to speak to you about it so 
many times, but have hesitated to do so. 

“You know so many things that educated people 
don’t know, and possess an inner wisdom that often 
puts me to shame. I know I can trust you, and per¬ 
haps it will do me good to unburden myself. 

“You remember the night the Governor of Alabama 
spent in our house and asked dad to come to Alabama 
and take up this work with the convicts ? I had 
a terrible dream that night, of a convict, a big man 
almost exactly like my father, coming into his study, 
and after being fed, attacking him. They fought a 
terrible battle, and finally the convict choked father 
to death, and he fell lifeless to the floor. I turned 
away in horror, and when I looked again it was the 
convict that lay on the floor dead, with dad’s suit on, 
while dad stood over the dead man, wearing the 
striped suit. I awoke, screaming with terror and 
rushed into father’s study.” 

Lowering her voice to a whisper, she continued, 
“What do you think I saw, Simon ? There on the 
floor was my dad, writhing in agony with a blood¬ 
stained convict suit clasped in his hands. He refused 
to give me any explanation that was satisfactory. 
Now we are here living in the midst of men all wear¬ 
ing this same badge of dishonor and shame. 

“What does it all mean, Simon? What do you 
know about that old convict suit filled with what 
looks like bullet holes and stained with blood? Have 
you ever seen it? Tell me, Simon, something that 


92 


The; Bishop of the Ozarics 


will remove this terrible thing from my mind that 
haunts me waking and sleeping.” 

Simon was silent for a long time, his eyes closed, 
his lips moving as though in prayer. Margey watched 
him in breathless expectation, for she felt that Simon 
held the key to the secret. She saw a holy light over¬ 
spread his saint-like features, and she sat fascinated 
as he began to speak without opening his eyes. 

“Honey, you won’t nevah tell de ‘Bishop,’ nor 
nobody else in dis work, will you?” 

After Margey had given her most solemn promise 
the old man continued: 

“De ‘Bishop’ had a brudder once dat wus a preacher, 
an’ as good a man as dey wus in de whole work, an’ 
de ‘Bishop’ lubed him lak Jonathan lubed Absalom. 
He wus a man what nevah thought of hisself, but 
always about other folks. He would gib away his 
last dollar to some po’ widow or orphan chilluns, an’ 
go hungry hisself. He sometimes gib his close away 
ontil he ain’t got but one suit lef’. 

“Well, one time a convict come to his house follered 
by men an’ dogs, an’ he begged de ‘Bishop’s’ brudder 
to hide him. De ‘Bishop’s’ brudder say, ‘Pull off yore 
suit an’ put on mine, an’ I put yourse on, an’ dat will 
fool ’em ontil you kin git away.’ 

“Well, when de convict had gone wid de preacher’s 
suit on de men an’ dogs come, an’ seein’ a man wid 
convict close on, dey begin shootin’ widout knowin’ 
who dey wus shootin’. When dey see he wus dead 
dey went away. De ‘Bishop’ heerd erbout it an’ come 
an’ took off de convict suit an’ bury his brudder. His 
heart was broke, an’ he ain’t neveh got ovah it, an’ he 
nevah will. 

“He put dat suit away in a little old trunk, an’ we 
all went to de Ozark mountains when you wus des a 


Margey 


93 


baby. I nevah ax him no questions, but I lowed he 
wanted to git away from all his troubles by gwine out 
dah in dat wilderness. 

“Evah since den his min’ seems to turn to convicts, 
an’ he wants to gib his life to redeemin’ ’em, as he 
calls it. 

“He made ’em all ovah dat lived in Devil’s Den, an' 
I reckon dey wa’n’t no wusser dan dese heah, an’ I 
reckon dat he gw’ine to make de whole State ob Ala¬ 
bama set up an’ take notice.” 

“Do you believe in spirits, Simon, that can come 
to us from the other world ?” asked Margey. 

“Yes, chile, I sho’ does. Dat’s whah I learn ob 
things dat dey ain’t nobody evah tole me. 

“I don’t b’lieve in ghosts an’ hants an’ spooks, an’ 
skeer crow things lak dat, but I shore do b’lieve in 
sperits.” 

The “Shepherd Woman” came into the room and 
seemed intensely interested in Simon’s last remark. 

“I am something of a believer in spirits myself, 
Simon,” she said, laughing. “Tell us what your be¬ 
lief is.” 

“I ain’t got no b’lief,” the old man asserted 
solemnly. “I knows what I sees wid my eyes.” 

“Tell us what you have seen,” eagerly enquired 
Margey. “I know you are truthful and would believe 
anything you told me.” 

The old man winced at this unintentional thrust of 
Margey. He had told her a falsehood about the 
“Bishop” and the convict suit. 

“Well, honey, de ole man don’t nevah tell no mis¬ 
chief makin’ lies, an’ ef he evah do tell one it will be 
to help somebody an’ not to harm ’em. 

“Yesum I has seen sperits, dat is, what I calls 
sperits. Sometimes dey sperits ob folks what dead, 


94 


Thf Bishop of the Ozarks 


an’ sometimes dey sperits ob folks what still livin’. I 
can’t tell no diffe’nce betwixt de one an’ de tudder. 
Dey look alike to me. 

“I seed de sperit ob yoah ma mor’n once,” he said, 
addressing Margey, “an’ she talked to me des lak she 
use to. Her sperit look des lak her body when she 
wus heah, ’cept she looked happier, an’ she wus so well 
an’ her eyes wus bright, an’ she had on beautiful close. 
She tole us to go to de Ozark mountains, an’ she tole 
me it wus bes’ fer us to come back heah. 

“Den I kin sometimes see de sperit ob libin’ people. 
Dat’s mostly at night when folks is asleep. I think dat 
de sperit leabes de body sometimes when we sleeps— 
an’ trabels long ways as fas’ as lightnin’. 

“I’se seen de ‘Bishop’s’ sperit standin’ by my bed at 
night, an’ I seed Miss Margey an’ you,” he said, ad¬ 
dressing the “Shepherd Woman.” “Youse all got de 
mos’ beautiful sperits. 

“De sperits ob some folks look lak de debel,” the 
old man went on. “I don’t know des what make it dat 
way, but I knows what I sees.” 

“I think I can explain it to you, Simon,” said the 
“Shepherd Woman.” “I am not able to see what you 
do, but I have other ways of communicating with the 
invisible world. Yours is a rare gift, and is accorded 
to none but exalted souls. 

“The Bible tells us that man is Spirit. Saint Paul 
said man has two bodies, one natural or physical, and 
the other spiritual. The spiritual is the real man and 
the physical is simply the man’s temporary dwelling 
place. 

“Some persons possess the power of leaving the 
body at will. Jesus could do so, Paul could, and 
thousands of others through the ages have been able 
to lay down the body and take it up again according 


Margey 


95 


to their desires. In sleep the man often leaves his 
body and returns again. 

“When the spiritual man finally leaves the body to 
return no more the body decays rapidly. The man, 
however, is no more spirit after he leaves the body than 
he was before he left it. Passing out of the body has 
not changed the man, except to free him from the fet¬ 
ters of the flesh, or natural man. 

“If we believed our Bibles we would understand all 
this. It is the most vital thing taught in the Bible. It 
is the only truth that assures us of immortality. It is 
the one thing that lifts man above the brute and takes 
away the tragedy of life. 

“It is the failure of the churches to hold fast to this 
great truth, so forcibly taught by Jesus, that is plung¬ 
ing the world headlong into a gross materialism, which 
threatens to destroy civilization and drag the churches 
down in the great disaster. 

“Take out of the Bible the doctrine that man is 
Spirit, that God is Spirit, and you might as well de¬ 
stroy the Bible. Take out the thousands of instances 
where God and man have talked together, where angels 
have appeared and ministered to men here on this 
earth, and where those on the other side have come 
back to bring a word of cheer and hope to the living, 
and your religion has lost its soul, your Bible is a book 
of myths and old wives’ tales and man of all created 
things is the most miserable and hopeless, for he is 
born with a longing for immorality.” 

The conversation was cut short by the arrival of 
Buck Garrett who came in in his usual breezy, abrupt 
way. 

“I think I got Brown Hal about city broke, Miss 
Margey,” he exclaimed, “but he keeps actin’ like he 
wanted to say, ‘Buck, I want my mistress. They ain’t 


96 


The: Bishop of the Ozarks 


nobody understands me like she does.’ He is waitin’ 
just outside an’ it mout do him good ef you’d kinder 
ride that wire edge offen him.” 

While Margey was putting on her riding habit the 
“Bishop” came in from the grounds where the convicts 
were at work. A look of divine content beamed from 
his countenance. 

“How are you gettin’ on with the bad uns, 
‘Bishop’?” enquired Buck. 

“Oh, it is wonderful, Buck! I have never seen men 
respond more readily to kind treatment. They were 
resentful at first because I was a preacher. I told 
them that I wasn’t preacher enough to hurt, but just 
a man like them. In a little while they quit calling me 
‘Parson,’ and began to call me ‘Bishop.’ 

“Somehow, they got an inkling of my twenty years’ 
sojourn in the Ozark mountains and insisted on my 
telling them the story. They were as interested as 
boys, and I think it was a big help to them. Margey 
has been a Godsend to them, a ‘good angel,’ as they 
affectionately call her. 

“She has arranged them into a big singing society, 
and every evening they have songs and music for an 
hour. She can play any instrument she takes in her 
hand, and she has a wonderfully sympathetic voice. 
It is marvelous to see how music soothes and softens 
the most hardened criminals in the bunch. 

“Margey is developing into the greatest woman I 
have ever known. I am so proud of her and so happy 
to see her as she is today. 

“Surely God ‘moves in a mysterious way, His won¬ 
ders to perform,’ and no man realizes this more than 
I do.” 

Margey now appeared fully dressed for her first 
ride on the city-broke horse. As she stood ready to 


MargEy 


97 


mount they had never seen her more beautiful, more 
vivacious, more gloriously alive. 

The “Shepherd Woman” caught the gleam of the 
wild spirit in her eyes that sometimes dominated her. 
Somehow, there was a twinge at her heart, a pain as 
of fear, a premonition of something, she knew not 
what. 

Sim®n, too, sensed some unseen danger, afar off 
yet, but the faithful old man felt it. 

The “Bishop’s” great happiness seemed to render 
him immune to these shadows that lurked near the 
“Shepherd Woman” and Simon, while Buck Garrett 
had no thought for the moment for anything except 
the well groomed thoroughbred, and his mistress that 
bestrode him with queenly grace. 

Waving a graceful adieu with her left hand, as she 
grasped the reins tightly with her right, she said “Go!” 
and Brown Hal was speeding like the wind, the bit 
grasped firmly in his teeth, while his young rider 
leaned eagerly forward, saying, “Faster, Hal, faster! 
I feel like I just want to fly.” 


CHAPTER VIII 
The Two Physicians 

In one of Birmingham’s most popular office build¬ 
ings there was a suite of offices occupied by two of 
the most eminent young physicians of the city. The 
sign on the door of their reception room read: 

“Godfrey & Burroughs, Physicians and Surgeons.” 

On entering you found numbers of people waiting, 
some wearing the dress of prosperity, others the rags 
of poverty. 

On one of the inner doors one could see in letters 
of gold the sign: 

“Dr. Earl Godfrey, Private.” 

On another door was a similar sign reading, “Dr. 
Percy Burroughs, Private.” 

A close observer would have soon discovered that 
only the well dressed, prosperous appearing patients 
passed through the door leading to Dr. Godfrey’s pri¬ 
vate office. 

The poorly clad had to wait until they could be 
admitted to the office of Dr. Burroughs. It was also 
quite noticeable that some of the better dressed pa¬ 
tients declined to see Dr. Godfrey, but waited patiently 
their turn until they could see the other partner. 

Those who were ushered into the office of Dr. God¬ 
frey saw a young man who appeared to be less than 
thirty years of age, about five feet ten inches in height, 
well built and muscular. His shoulders were broad, 
his head covered with light hair, his eyes gray, his 
chin square and determined. His lips were sensual, 
and his hands denoted the practical business man. 

His bearing was courteous, but businesslike, and 
he never devoted more time to a patient than was 
absolutely necessary. 


The Two Physicians 99 

His partner was of the same age, slightly taller, not 
so stockily built, with black hair, soft brown eyes and 
dark complexion. His figure denoted the artistic 
temperament, while his personality was of that rare 
quality that seemed to soothe and give confidence to 
the patient as soon as he entered the doctor’s pres¬ 
ence. 

It was quite noticeable, too, that Dr. Burroughs took 
a deep personal interest in his patients. It seemed that 
the more forlorn and threadbare they were, the greater 
his interest and sympathy. 

In their dispositions and ideals the partners were 
as far apart as the poles. Notwithstanding this, there 
had always been a strong tie of friendship that bound 
them together. 

In their early boyhood they had both been left 
orphans and thrown on their own resources. They 
were ambitious and together they started out in life 
as barefooted newsboys on the streets of Birming¬ 
ham. Godfrey was the more aggressive and became 
the leader. Together they worked, saved and battled 
with other “Newsies.” Burroughs always avoided a 
fight if possible, while Godfrey was ready to scrap “at 
the drop of a hat.” 

When forced into a combat Burroughs was quick 
and fearless, and the other boys soon learned that he 
was a dangerous antagonist and ceased to impose on 
him. 

Godfrey was the treasurer of the firm which bore 
the title then as now, “Godfrey & Burroughs,” except 
that it read “News Dealers.” 

Godfrey used to say that if his partner had the 
handling of the money he would give it all away to 
people in distress. 

Their business prospered amazingly. They at- 


) 


> > 
> > > 


> 


> 


100 


The Bishop of the Ozarks 


tended night school, and their progress in knowledge 
kept pace with their business prosperity. 

They early determined to become physicians and 
before they reached their twenty-first year they sold 
their business for sufficient money to pay their way 
through one of the best medical colleges in the coun¬ 
try. From this institution they both graduated with 
the highest honor. They returned to Birmingham, the 
scene of their early struggles, without money, but filled 
with the enthusiasm of youth. They purchased their 
office furniture and equipment on credit and began 
the heart breaking task of waiting for patients. 

They soon realized that “a prophet is not without 
honor save in his own country.” They were news¬ 
boys and news dealers in the mind of the public, now 
aspiring to be physicians. 

The intervening years had been full of privation 
and hardship. Their load of debt weighed them down, 
and there were times without number when they were 
almost ready to give up the battle. 

Burroughs seemed to attract poor patients who 
were unable to pay for medical attention, and his part¬ 
ner often chided him for his waste of time on the 
“downs and outs,” as he sneeringly called them. 

Burroughs was developing unusual skill as a sur¬ 
geon, and it was one of his operations on a charity 
patient in the County Hospital that first drew the at¬ 
tention of the public to the new firm. The operation 
was so difficult and so skillfully performed that the 
older members of the profession commented on it, and 
the newspapers told the interesting story beneath big 
head-lines. 

After this, moneyed patients began to consult them, 
and their practice had gradually grown, until most of 
their indebtedness had been paid. 


c 


c 


( < 


The Two Physicians 


101 


A new medical college opened in Birmingham had 
honored them by offering them positions as members 
of the faculty. Dr. Godfrey was Professor of Anat¬ 
omy, while Dr. Burroughs held the chair of Chem¬ 
istry. The pay was meager, but the position brought 
them into prominence, and offered them a field for 
acquiring knowledge while imparting it to others. 

It was exceedingly difficult to obtain subjects for 
dissection, and it was counted a great stroke of good 
fortune when an unusual tragedy furnished the college 
with a subject. 

"IPs an ill wind that blows nobody good/’ ex¬ 
claimed Godfrey, rubbing his hands gleefully as he 
made the announcement to the student body. 

“Poor fellow! How my heart goes out to him!” 
said Burroughs. “What a tragedy it is for a man to 
hurl his soul back to God as though life were an unwel¬ 
come gift.” 

“Soul, did you say?” asked his partner, banteringly. 
“This fellow wasn’t at all sure about his soul so he 
killed himself to find out. Here is the note found on 
his body in which he gives his reasons for committing 
suicide. 

“ ‘To the Birmingham Medical College:— 

“ ‘Being of sound mind and disposing memory I 
hereby give and bequeath my body to your institution 
in the interest of scientific truth. 

“ ‘All my life I have had the most horrible fear 
of extinction or annihilation at death. The desire to 
live on and on has been the overmastering passion of 
my life. So strong has been that desire that I have 
often said I would rather spend eternity in an orthodox, 
literal, burning hell, with all the torture that could be 
conjured up by a million devils, than to die and be no 
more. Therefore hell holds no horrors for me if I can 


102 


The Bishop of the Ozarks 


just live on, even if there is not the slightest hope of 
any alleviation of my suffering after a billion years of 
woe. 

“ ‘The orthodox preachers tell me that this will 
be my state, after my body has been resurrected and 
reunited to my soul, and then hurled by God into the 
fathomless pit which he created for his children before 
the foundation of the world. 

“ T used to believe that man had a soul, and that 
this longing for immortality was the cry of the soul, 
but of late years I question, seriously, if there is a soul. 
If there is, there should be some way of communi¬ 
cating with those who have passed out of the body. 

“ ‘My father is an orthodox preacher and he tells 
me that this is impossible, that all so-called spirit com¬ 
munication is either humbug or of the devil. Tonight 
as I pen these lines and look at the weapon that is 
shortly to end my mortal career I would give the gold 
of Ophir, if I possessed it, for just one word from the 
other side. If I knew I had a soul that would live on, 
it would change this hour of hopeless gloom to one of 
supernal joy. It would give the staggering world a 
new hope, and turn back the onrush of materialism 
that is causing thousands every year to do what I am 
now about to do. 

“ ‘My father tells me that I shall never die, that 
I shall live as long as God is, but at the same time he 
tells me that it is impossible for me to know this, that 
if there was ever communication between this mate¬ 
rial world and the spiritual world, the door of com¬ 
munication has been forever shut and hermetically 
sealed. 

“ ‘My reason tells me that if it is once admitted 
that man is a spirit and never dies, then it follows as 
logically as the night follows the day that communica- 


The Two Physicians 


103 


tion between this world and the unseen world is not 
only possible but probable. Therefore when my father, 
in whom I have the most implicit confidence, tells me 
that I can obtain no proof of my immortality by com¬ 
municating with those who have passed to the other 
side, I say it is all a myth, a cruel dream, there is no 
“other side,” and death is the end. 

“ ‘You will remember that I discussed this sub¬ 
ject with both Dr. Godfrey and Dr. Burroughs. The 
former assured me that he was a materialist and did 
not believe that man possessed a soul, while Dr. Bur¬ 
roughs assured me with much feeling that he knew 
man had a soul, because he had an abiding conscious¬ 
ness of his soul, and further that communication with 
those passed out of the body had been proven by 
scientific men beyond a doubt. 

“ ‘I think that I may contribute something toward 
the solution of this age old problem. 

“ ‘I want you to dissect my body, with a view to 
locating my soul, or at least the seat of my soul if I 
have one, for I suppose it will be in hell when you hold 
the autopsy, for the preachers tell us that’s where all 
self-murderers go. 

“ ‘If you find the place of my soul in my body 
you are to give the knowledge to the world, resting 
assured that the fact of my immortality will be joy 
enough for me as my soul waits in hell for a million 
years to rejoin my body, to be thereafter tortured 
through the endless aeons of eternity. 

“ ‘Immortality! Immortality ! Thank God for im¬ 
mortality ! I will cry through the rolling cycles, and 
hell’s pangs will be the raptures of paradise. 

“ ‘And now farewell. I plunge from the precipice 
of time into—’ ” 

Silence greeted the reading of this message from 


104 


The Bishop oe the Ozarics 


the dead, by Godfrey. Even he lost something of his 
jocular air as the remains of the dead man were made 
ready for operation on the dissecting table. 

The others were visibly impressed, and instead of 
the usual cold blooded heartless talk, what little con¬ 
versation there was, was carried on in subdued tones. 

Godfrey wielded the knife on this occasion, and as 
he proceeded to dismember the body he kept up a run¬ 
ning fire of talk intended, no doubt, to dispel the 
gloom that seemed to pervade the dissecting room. 

“Maybe his soul is still hanging round somewhere 
near his. body, and perhaps Dr. Burroughs may see it. 
He is inclined to believe in spooks,” said Godfrey. He 
laughed at his own sally, but no one joined him. 

“That laugh sounded rather lonesome/’ he de¬ 
clared. “You fellows all look like you might be 
expecting a visit from the cadaver’s spook. 

“Perhaps his soul is still in his body. If so, we 
ought to find it, for we are going to dissect every part 
of his anatomy. Keep a sharp lookout and tell me if 
you see anything that looks like a soul. 

“You know I used to believe in that sort of stuff 
myself, but my study of anatomy has convinced me it 
is all bunk. Man is no more than any other animal 
except for his superior intellect. 

“There is no proof that man has a soul. I used to 
think that the Bible contained the evidence of spirit 
return, but the preachers say such a thing is impossible, 
and I am like this suicide, if it is impossible to com¬ 
municate with those who are dead, that is conclusive 
to my mind that when a man dies that is the end. 

“What I am dissecting here is no more than if I 
were cutting up a hog or an ox, and I feel no more 
solemnity than I would feel if dissecting any other 
animal. The preachers all say we can’t communicate 


rHE Two Physicians 


105 


with those on the other side, and I believe them, for 
there isn’t anybody over there. 

“Well, gentlemen, we haven’t found his soul yet. 
Perhaps we shall find the seat of his soul. Surely we 
will if he had one. 

“When one of you see anything that looks like the 
place where his soul roosted call my attention to it, and 
we will make a thorough examination.” 

Burroughs stood by listening to this materialistic 
chatter of his partner. It pained him greatly for he 
devotedly loved Godfrey, and he felt that a barrier 
was being erected between them that would some day 
cast a dark shadow over their friendship and com¬ 
panionship. 

“Before going into a discussion of the anatomy of 
the subject before us I would like to have you vote on 
the question raised by the suicide in his last note. It 
was his request, and in the interest of science, I am 
going to ask you to vote on this question. 

“Did we find his soul, or anything that indicated he 
had a soul?” 

No sound broke the silence, and he continued. 

“I take it, from your silence, that you all vote 
‘No/ for it is perfectly obvious that we did not. 

“Now I want your opinion on this question: Did 
the man have a soul ? What say you, yea or nay ?” 

“Hold on just a moment before you vote on that 
question, young men,” exclaimed Dr. Burroughs. 
“This is the most important question that will ever 
arise in your lives. It is the most important question 
that has ever engaged the attention of men. It has 
been worthy of consideration by the greatest intellects 
of all the ages. 

“My colleague has presented the argument of the 
materialist, but there is another side to the question. 


106 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


It is the side that says the fast decaying body of this 
poor storm-tossed man was not the man at all. Man is 
not body, not flesh and blood, he is spirit, just as God 
is spirit. In fact, he is of the very essence of the spirit 
of God as the drops of rain are of the ocean. They 
come from the ocean and thither they return. 

“When this poor fellow sent the bullet crashing 
through his brain it stopped the life flow through the 
physical body, but the spirit was unhurt. That spirit 
is independent of the body and functions either within 
or without the body. 

“You have examined with me particles of the 
human body under a powerful glass. At the same time 
we have examined the substance of the bodies of ani¬ 
mals, plants and trees. You know that, in the last 
analysis they are all one. There is no difference. The 
thing that differentiates man from other animals is 
his power of speech, and this power comes from the 
soul. It is the soul functioning through the brain that 
speaks. No one expects to see the soul when you dis¬ 
sect the human body. The soul is spirit, and fills and 
permeates the body just as water would a sponge. The 
soul is not visible to the eye, except in rare cases, but 
it is the real man, while the body is the temporary 
abode. 

“The temporary abode which we call matter is 
merely one manifestation or expression of Divine 
Mind, just as force or energy is another. Indeed mat¬ 
ter seems to blend into force and force into mind, until 
the Christian Scientists say, ‘All is Mind.’ They are 
not so very far from the truth. 

“Sir Oliver Lodge and other noted scientists tell 
us there is enough potential energy in one grain of 
matter to blow up a fleet of ships or destroy a city. 

“If this is true, I ask you, What is this marvelous 
force ? It is mind, and mind is soul and spirit. 


The Two Physicians 


107 


“So I contend that man is a soul and not a body, 
and being a soul, when what we call ‘death’ overtakes 
him, the real man, which is what we call the spirit, 
undergoes no change. Only the body does that, dis¬ 
solving into its original organic elements. 

“This belief in immortality is the most vital thing 
that affects our civilization. It is the only hope of the 
world. Take it away from man, and civilization will 
plunge downward for ages. 

“The time has come when men want to know. They 
want indisputable proof of the continuity of life. 

“Scientific men all over the world are investigating. 

“Millions of mothers with breaking hearts are try¬ 
ing to rend the veil that separates the material from 
the spiritual world, demanding an answer to the age 
old question, ‘If a man die, shall he live again?’ 

“Millions of orthodox Christian people are asking 
the question of their pastors, and they stand dumb 
before the questioner, or give an answer that this sci¬ 
entific age will laugh to scorn. 

“I say there is proof, abundant scientific proof that 
puts the materialist to flight and proves beyond a per- 
adventure the continuation of life after the death of 
the body.” 

“That’s a powerful sermon, young man,” said Dr. 
Godfrey, “and it might convince weak minded people, 
but it holds no appeal to the scientific mind. 

“Unless the ghost of the departed wants to put him¬ 
self in evidence I think we are ready to close the argu¬ 
ment and take the vote.” 

No one broke the silence which became oppressive. 
A spell seemed to be cast over the group of young 
medical students. 

Dr. Burroughs was gazing steadfastly at a point 


108 The Bishop of the Ozarks 

just above the dismembered body of the deceased. His 
expression was so rapt that every one turned his 
eyes in the direction taken by the doctor’s vision. 

Even Godfrey grew serious. 

‘'What in hell do you see?” he asked nervously. 
“Is his ghost going to walk?” 

Burroughs uttered no sound, and even his breath¬ 
ing seemed to stop. A cold wind filled the dissecting 
room. The electric lights grew dim, flickered feebly, 
and then total darkness. 

Faintly a purplish light began to show above the 
dissecting table. It spread until it seemed to cover the 
table and reached almost to the ceiling. Then slowly 
the form of a man appeared, the exact counterpart of 
the man on the dissecting table. 

His face showed terrible agony. His lips moved 
but there was no sound. He stretched forth his hands 
in a gesture of despair, and slowly vanished from sight 
with the fading light. 

The electric lights came back, and the little group 
stood speechless, staring into each other’s faces. 

“That was a clever trick,” said Godfrey, “but I 
guess it’s got you fellows locoed, so we won’t take the 
vote tonight.” 

These two men have been introduced to the reader 
at some length, as they are to play an important part 
in the life of Margey Chapman. 

Their streams of life had flowed far apart, but now 
they were about to follow the same channel, and it 
is well to know something of the manner of men who 
are to come into the life of this beautiful girl and influ¬ 
ence her for weal or for woe. 

How will she react to these two men, the one living 
wholly on the material plane, and the other groping for 
his spiritual ideal? 


The: Two Physicians 


109 


Tonight, as the two men face each other, standing 
on opposite sides of the dissecting table, Margey sings 
to the convicts dear old John Burroughs’ hymn: “My 
own will come to me,” and every man of them would 
have sworn she was an angel of light. 


CHAPTER IX 
As a Man Thinketh 

The work of the “Bishop of the Ozarks” was at¬ 
tracting the attention of the entire State of Alabama. 
For the most part the Press was antagonistic. The 
Ministry was about equally divided, some criticising 
and condemning, others praising. The Press inveighed 
lustily against his theory of crime and his method of 
treating criminals and called loudly for punishment 
of all criminals. 

One of the leading papers of the state in an edi¬ 
torial declared that he was breeding a wholesale dis¬ 
respect of the law, and inviting men to commit crime, 
with the knowledge that they would be coddled, 
pampered and treated kindly instead of being confined 
in cells and punished with severity as all criminals 
should be punished. The paper demanded that the 
Governor revoke the paroles of the men committed to 
the care of this “dreamer Chapman, who no doubt 
means well, but does not understand the nature of 
criminals or how to prevent crime.” 

The Governor, who was a frequent visitor to 
“Sunny Vale,” the thousand-acre tract purchased by 
the “Shepherd Woman” for the use of the “Bishop” in 
his experiment, ignored the bullying of the Press and 
politicians. He assured the “Bishop” that he was in 
thorough accord with his theories and proposed to 
stand by him until a practical demonstration could be 
made. 

“Sunny Vale” was a beautiful spot resting among 
the pine clad hills across Red Mountain from Bir¬ 
mingham. The soil was fertile, the scenery superb. A 
dozen springs burst from the everlasting hills forming 


As a Man Thinic^th 


111 


“Shady Creek,” a picturesque stream that traversed the 
valley on its way to the Cahaba river. 

Here were erected modern bungalows for the 
homes of the men, the grounds being beautified by 
their labor under the supervision of a competent land¬ 
scape artist. 

A modern farm was opened up, where the latest 
scientific methods of farming were adopted. The best 
cattle, sheep, hogs, mules and other live stock grown 
in the State were bred and reared in Sunny Vale, the 
work all being performed by the convicts. 

Within a short time the farm was self supporting, 
and then it began to earn big profits. These profits 
were divided with the men on an equitable basis, and 
from their share they were enabled to assist their 
families at home, who had heretofore been charges on 
the community under the old convict system. 

This was the outward manifestation of the 
“Bishop’s” system, but there was an inward develop¬ 
ment that far overshadowed what the casual visitor to 
Sunny Vale would observe. 

It was this inward growth that he considered vitally 
fundamental, and to him the outward manifestation 
was but a natural, logical consequence of what had 
already taken place within the inner consciousness of 
the men. 

He began his instruction of these hardened crim¬ 
inals just as though they were little children in the 
kindergarten class. More than half of them could 
neither read nor write, and of the remainder none of 
them were educated. 

Not a man of them had the remotest idea of the 
fundamental laws of his being. They knew no more 
about themselves than does the horse or ox. They 
had not the remotest idea why they committed crime, 


112 The Bishop op the Ozarks 

except what had been told them by the preachers, that 
they were terrible sinners in the eyes of God. They 
had been told that they must repent of their sins, 
believe on Jesus and be washed in the blood before God 
would forgive them, and even after God forgave them 
they must go on serving their sentences. 

The effect of this preaching which they heard from 
the Chaplain of the penitentiary had been to harden 
them. They could not understand it all, and it failed 
to appeal to their undeveloped intellects. 

So when the “Bishop” announced to them that all 
criminals were unsane, and most of them insane, and 
explained in a simple way what he meant, they were 
immediately intensely interested. 

“When I say ‘unsane,’ I mean ‘unsound,’ ” he ex¬ 
plained. “No sound man, or sane man will ever commit 
a crime. He has no desire to do so. The crime comes 
from the desire. If you did not want to commit a 
crime you would never do so, would you ?” he asked. 

“I never thought about it that way,” said one griz¬ 
zled old fellow who was serving a life term for 
murder. “I ’lowed it wus jest becase I was full of 
what the preachers call ‘original sin’ on account of 
Adam and Eve eatin’ a big red apple. Now you say I 
killed a man becase I wanted to. What made me want 
to do it? That’s the idee I’d like to git through my 
head. Wus it the red apple my ancestors eat, or wus 
it sumpthin’ else ?” 

“It was your wrong thinking,” the “Bishop” ex¬ 
plained. “If you had understood the power of thought, 
used that power properly, you would never have had 
any desire to kill.” 

“That sounds like bosh to me, Parson,” the old 
fellow declared. “When I wus a boy I heerd the 
preacher say a man couldn’t control his thoughts but 


As a Man Thinketh 


113 


he could control his acts. I never tried to control my 
thoughts in my life. I thought it didn’t make no dif¬ 
ference what I thought just so I acted right.” 

“That is the trouble with our entire religious, edu¬ 
cational and political system,” explained the “Bishop,” 
“and it all comes from a failure to understand who 
and what man is. 

“If the schools and churches would begin with the 
child and instil into his mind these fundamental truths, 
in a few generations there would be no crime, no sick¬ 
ness, no poverty.” 

“Now yore talkin’ wild, Parson,” declared a young 
man who was also in for life, for murder. “Where do 
you git all them quare notions? God, what a beau¬ 
tiful world it would be if things could be like you 
say!” 

“I am taking the teachings of Jesus Christ for all 
I say. If the world had followed His teachings for 
the two thousand years since He was on earth this 
would have been a paradise. 

“He taught that man is spirit and not body,—that 
your spirit has always been, just as God has; that it 
can never die, and that each one of us is God’s child. 
It is your soul that is you, and not your body. Your 
body is but a temporary abode for your soul, and it is 
your soul that does the thinking. If you desire that 
your soul send out good thoughts it will do so. Your 
thoughts are governed by your desires, and you can 
create such thoughts as you want to, and these 
thoughts in their turn make you what you are, cause 
you to do the things you do. Now when you under¬ 
stand this you can begin to rebuild your lives. 

“Your bodies are responsive to your thoughts. 
Every cell in your body has a mind and you can talk 


114 


Th£ Bishop op the Ozarks 


to the cells of your body and they will understand and 
obey you, too. 

“We are going to change our desires in the first 
place. We do this by understanding who we are. Not 
mere bodies, but living souls. Not 'worms of the dust’ 
but ‘Sons of God.’ 

“Our desires have been wrong, and we are out of 
harmony with our Father. We are angry with Him, 
and all the time we think He is angry with us. 

“The preachers tell us we must pray to Him for 
forgiveness. He has nothing to forgive. He only 
pities us and yearns for us to come back into His 
thoughts. 

“We should pray that our desires be changed, that 
we may come into soul consciousness and a feeling of 
oneness with God and His Son, Jesus, and all the Sons 
of God, then we experience a sense of the forgiveness 
of sin. 

“God does not forgive; we forgive ourselves. God 
does not punish. We inflict our own punishment. 

“Now, understanding this law, we are going to 
begin at the beginning and recreate our bodies. 

“Our faces are hard, scarred by sin, lined with evil 
thoughts, ugly, repulsive. 

“Our bodies are warped, old before their time, un- 
sightly, ugly. 

“We are going to make our faces beautiful, for they 
will reflect our beautiful souls. Our eyes will be filled 
with a divine light, for a divine love will beam through 
them. Our bodies will become erect, our limbs supple 
and pliant, our step firm and manly, for we are going 
to command every cell in our bodies to get busy, and 
make us a new body in accordance with our pure, noble 
desires. 

“When the work is complete we will be sane, sound 


As a Man Thinketh 


115 


in body, mind and spirit, and shall be worthy Sons of 
God.” 

Thus was the foundation laid for the redemption 
of these enemies of society and human derelicts. 

For an hour each day Margey taught the men, and 
they were quite as eager to learn as the most ambitious 
school boy. 

A chapel had been erected where every one came 
at six o’clock in the morning for half an hour’s com¬ 
munion with God. 

On Sunday morning the “Bishop” always preached 
a sermon, and Margey led the singing. She taught the 
men to sing in her “School,” and the song service was 
a feature of the day’s lessons. 

The “Bishop’s” Sunday morning sermons began to 
attract attention, and soon people commenced to come 
out from the city on Sunday morning to hear him. It 
was quite the fad to go out to the convicts’ chapel to 
hear the “Bishop of the Ozarks,” as he was always 
referred to by the newspapers. Even the ministers of 
the various denominations dropped in occasionally. 
They usually took a seat near the door where they 
could make a hasty exit if the sermon was too radical. 

“For ages there has been warfare between the 
Church and Science,” the “Bishop” said in one of his 
sermons when he discovered several ministers in his 
audience. “The Church has fought every advance of 
Science, fearing that Science would uproot the very 
foundations of religion. 

“The so-called ‘higher criticism’ has been a bone of 
contention in the churches, and the cause of much 
crimination and recrimination. 

“The theory of evolution has been pronounced 
anathema by the theologians, while it was being proven 
by science. 


116 The Bishop of the Ozarks 

“Step by step Science has fought its way opposed 
by the theologians, until today Science is ready to 
demonstrate to the world the truths taught by Jesus 
Christ, and to give an answer to every longing of the 
human soul so long denied by the church. Today, 
Science, though buffeted and maligned by the church 
for weary years, is ready with the indisputable proof 
that the religion of Jesus Christ is scientifically sound 
and built upon a rock as eternal as God Himself. 

“It is amazing that the church today is combating 
these scientific truths with all its might. Men in our 
most influential pulpits are denouncing facts recog¬ 
nized by the entire enlightened world, and announcing 
materialistic doctrines that may have satisfied mankind 
when it was believed the earth was flat, and God was 
just a big overgrown man, sitting somewhere on a 
throne of pearls in the midst of a city whose streets 
were paved with gold. 

“Science has proven that God is spirit, that man 
is spirit, and that the spirit of man is no more subject 
to sin, disease and death than the spirit of God. 

“Science has come, not to destroy the law of man’s 
being but to fulfill it. 

“Science has come not to destroy religion, but to 
put back into religion the Spirit of Jesus Christ. 

“It has come to destroy the old dogmas and creeds, 
based on a materialistic conception of God, man and 
the universe, thus saving the church from itself. 

“It is useless for the religious teachers to longer 
howl ‘Anathema’ from the pulpits at believers in 
Christian Science, Metaphysics, New Thought, The¬ 
osophy or Spiritualism. 

“But for the materialism of the churches, their 
stubborn refusal to keep step with the advance of 
Science there would have been no place for these 
so-called cults and fads. 


As a Man Thinketh 


117 


“They all teach scientific truths, and every truth 
inculcated by them is taken from the teachings of 
Jesus, the Master of the ages. 

“When His mission on this plane was fulfilled He 
promised that men should do greater things than He 
had done. The church denied this for seventeen 
hundred years, since the Emperor Constantine and a 
lot of ignorant priests and corrupt politicians took 
charge of the church. 

“They were not spiritual, and had no spiritual in¬ 
sight or understanding, so they discarded all the spirit¬ 
ual meaning in Christ’s teachings, and announced that 
the days of ‘miracles’ were past. 

“Now Science, God’s hand-maiden, comes to the 
rescue, proves that Christ wrought no miracles, that 
there never was a miracle, but that all Christ did was 
in conformity to natural law, and that the day dawn is 
now here when His promise shall be fulfilled, and 
‘greater things than these shall ye do.’ ” 

Finally the crowds grew so large the little chapel 
would not hold them. It was now spring of the year 
and some one proposed the erection of a brush arbor 
to be used during the spring and summer months. 
This was quite a novelty to the city dwellers, but not 
so to the old timers who still had fond recollections of 
the old time camp meetings with the big brush arbor 
in the center, surrounded by a city of tents, which 
served as temporary homes for the attendants. 

To their meetings were attracted the two strug¬ 
gling young physicians whose acquaintance we have 
already formed. 

Earl Godfrey and Percy Burroughs came, as did 
countless others out of idle curiosity, one to scoff, the 
other to pray. 

Not many went away from one of the “Bishop's” 


118 


The Bishop op the Ozarks 


services without praying, perhaps not in words, but in 
thought. 

There was something about the man that aroused 
a feeling of devotion in your soul. His face beamed 
with an expression of infinite compassion and love 
that warmed the coldest heart. 

When he prayed he simply talked to his Father, 
with the knowledge that all things in God’s storehouse 
belong to His children. 

At the close of the first service attended by God¬ 
frey and Burroughs, Margey, as was her custom, stood 
on the platform to lead the convicts in singing. 

“We Sunny Vale folks will sing the first stanza,” 
she said, “and then we will let our visitors sing the 
next. I know you can beat us, but we won’t mind 
that. Most of these men when they came here had 
never tried to sing a song in their lives.” 

Was there ever such another choir? One hundred 
men, many of them well past middle life, all of them 
outcasts of the law, following this beautiful girl as 
she led them in that dear old hymn, “Jesus, Saviour, 
Pilot Me.” 

As the hundred voices rang out you forgot the 
harsh tones, the lack of musical training, and heard 
only the pleading cry of a hundred souls for guidance 
and help. 

When it came to the second stanza no one in the 
audience responded, and Margey sang it through alone. 

The effect was electrical. She seemed to the hearers 
to be the incarnation of a Madonna in her unusual 
beauty. Her face had an expression of holiness that 
came from the altar of her soul. There was a quality 
in her voice that seemed to touch every string of the 
human heart. 

At first only low sobs could be heard, but as she 


As a Man Thinketh 


119 


went on, many of the audience wept aloud. As the 
last tones died away a thousand handkerchiefs fluttered 
in the breeze as their owners dried the tears from 
their eyes. 

Burroughs had caught the divine spark from Mar- 
gey’s soul, and walked to the platform like a man 
under some mystic spell to where the “Bishop” and 
Margey were shaking hands with the throng that 
pressed forward. 

His soul, for the first time, had found that for 
which it had longed always, and he knew that for good 
or ill the woman of his destiny stood before him. 

As he grasped her hand he had no word to say, 
nor did he remember aught she said to him. He only 
knew that a divine thrill filled his being, and that for 
the moment he would not have exchanged places with 
a king on his throne. He was conscious, also, of a 
startled look in Margey J s eyes as she looked into his, a 
slight swaying of her body, a quick gasp as if for 
breath, and a feeling on his part, that if he had clasped 
her in his arms she would not have resisted. 

Behind him was Godfrey, his partner, also fas¬ 
cinated by the beautiful girl. He saw in her the most 
perfect specimen of young womanhood his eyes had 
ever beheld. In his eyes she was a glorious animal, 
with a power over men that would drive them mad. 

His heart beat madly as he clasped her hand, the 
color came to his cheeks, his eyes gleamed like points 
of steel. Margey was startled. The expression in 
her eyes changed, the look of the gazelle gradually 
faded, and the tigerish light often seen by old Simon 
and the “Shepherd Woman” sprang up. Her cheeks 
blushed furiously. Her breath came hot and fast. 

As Godfrey talked to her she became all animation, 
and her laugh rang out loud and metallic. The peo- 


120 


The: Bishop of the Ozarks 


pie turned to look at her and could hardly believe their 
eyes. She was no longer the incarnation of the 
Madonna, but of some Egyptian queen, with that glit¬ 
ter in her eyes and lure in her face that have led many 
strong men to their ruin. 

This metamorphosis was for only a fleeting mo¬ 
ment, but long enough for Godfrey to understand that 
here was the one woman in all the world for him, and 
he determined to possess her, be the cost what it might. 

As she turned away from Godfrey her eyes rested 
once more on the face of Burroughs, and again hers 
was the soul of a saint and the face of a Madonna. 


CHAPTER X 
The Turn in the Road 

After leaving the service under the brush arbor 
Godfrey and Burroughs returned to the city. There 
was little conversation as each man was busy with his 
own thoughts. It would have been easy to have 
guessed the magnet around which their minds were 
revolving. Both felt that a new element had entered 
their lives, and instinctively they knew that it por¬ 
tended momentous possibilities for them. 

They strolled down Third avenue until they came 
to a small second-hand book store and curio shop kept 
by Peter Bardwell, a queer old chap with a long gray 
beard and eyes like a ferret’s. He always wore a 
black skull cap hiding a bald pate, a long black coat 
and trousers that were much too large for him. The 
partners sauntered into the dingy, poorly lighted place, 
where few customers ever entered. 

At the back of the room was a rickety old stairway 
leading to an upper room where Bardwell slept, and 
kept hidden rare and curious old books and trinkets 
that he never displayed to the idly curious. 

In a small squeaky voice he said, “What can I show 
you this fine Sunday morning, gentlemen?” 

“Show me the secret of making money,” said God¬ 
frey, “and I’ll buy all the junk in your dirty little shop 
and pay you two prices for it.” 

“What a generous disposition, young man! Such 
noble sentiments ought to be rewarded.” He was 
rubbing his hands obsequiously as he regarded God¬ 
frey with a whimsical, half curious smile. 

“Why do you desire money?” the old man asked, 
piercing Godfrey with his ferret eyes. 

Godfrey laughed uneasily. “Why do we all want 


122 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


money?” he said. “That is, everybody except Bur¬ 
roughs, my partner. He doesn’t want money. He’s a 
dreamer.” 

“Ah, it’s beautiful to dream,” the old man replied, 
his voice now soft. “I once had my dreams,” and his 
little ferret eyes had a mystical look in them, “but now, 
alas!” He finished the sentence with a sigh. 

“What is your dream, your wish?” he asked, turn¬ 
ing to Burroughs who had been examining a copy of a 
famous painting of Christ on the cross. 

“My dream is of the Christ life,” he said, “and my 
desire is to give to the world the best there is in me.” 

“A beautiful dream!” said the old man. “I used 
to have such dreams under the date trees of Persia 
when I was a lad.” 

“I don’t want to give the world anything!” ex¬ 
claimed Godfrey, harshly. “I want to take from the 
world my share of its gold, and I am going to find 
some way to do it.” 

Burroughs enquired the price of the picture he had 
been admiring, but when told, he shook his head and 
turned away with a sigh, and picked up a well worn 
volume lying on the counter. 

“Some day when I have the money I want to buy 
this picture if you have not sold it. Today I will con¬ 
tent myself with a book.” 

He opened the book in his hand and read the title, 
“In Tune with the Infinite.” “That sounds good,” he 
said, “I will take it.” 

While he had been examining the book the old man 
had noiselessly wrapped the painting of Christ, and 
when he paid for the book he handed the package to 
Burroughs, saying, “Take it with the old man’s com¬ 
pliments. May it bring you the desire of your soul.” 

Burroughs protested, but Bardwell was persistent. 


The Turn in the Road 


123 


and with many expressions of gratitude Burroughs 
accepted the gift. 

“A word in private with you, young man,” the 
dealer said to Godfrey, as they walked to the rear of 
his shop. 

“Do you really and truly desire the power to ac¬ 
quire money?” 

“Above everything else in this world!” Godfrey 
exclaimed. “I am sick and tired of being poor. I have 
worked like a slave all my life and am still a pauper. 
True, I have a good profession and a growing practice, 
but it’s too slow for me. I never felt poverty so keen¬ 
ly as today. For the first time in my life I have met 
a woman whom I love madly, desperately. It was that 
rare thing, love at first sight. 

“I must win her! I must have her! My partner 
also loved her when he first saw her. Although he has 
not mentioned her name I know that he is as desper¬ 
ately smitten as I am. If I had not been there it would 
have been a case of love at first sight between her and 
Burroughs. I saw the love light in her eyes as she 
looked at him. They burned soft and tender and her 
face was angelic in its beauty. But when she grasped 
my hand and held it I saw a great change sweep over 
her. The love light still burned but it was for me. It 
was no longer soft and tender, but a fierce flame of 
desire. Her face was aglow with beauty, and it was 
the beauty of the animal that lurked beneath the 
Madonna in her. 

“I know it’s going to be a fight to a finish, perhaps 
to the death, and I am ready to go the limit. But 1 
must have money, money in order that I may win.” 

“Are you sure you can win her with gold?” the 
old man enquired, looking doubtfully at Godfrey. 

“Oh, you can buy any woman with gold,” he ex- 


124 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


claimed, “especially when she loves the things of this 
world as I am sure the woman I am talking about 
does, if she is once allowed to taste its sweets.” 

“Would you give your soul for money?” the old 
man asked, coming closer to Godfrey and speaking in 
a whisper. 

“I would give my soul for money if I had one,” 
Godfrey answered, “but man does not possess a soul, 
therefore I am unable to offer the bribe you suggest.” 

“Then you are willing to give your soul if you have 
one?” the shop-keeper persisted, his eyes burning with 
an uncanny light that caused Godfrey to fidget ner¬ 
vously. 

“Most assuredly I am,” he replied, “but why all this 
solemn discussion when no one would give a beggar’s 
pittance for my soul, even if I possessed one?” 

“Follow me,” the old man said, his eyes now blaz¬ 
ing like points of flame. He climbed the creaking 
stairs, Godfrey close upon his heels. 

He now thought the old man partially demented, 
but determined to find out what peculiar hallucination 
the queer old fellow had in his head. 

“Before proceeding further in this matter I must 
tell you the whole truth and warn you most solemnly 
of the consequences that will follow if you carry out 
your desires as expressed to me. I have in my pos¬ 
session the most wonderful talisman in the world. It 
is a crystal of rare beauty and color and, according to 
the legend that has been handed down, it is older than 
Moses. 

“According to this legend it belonged to the Devil 
before man was created, and with it he has tempted 
men to sell their souls in all the ages. Inside that stone 
there are hieroglyphics so ancient that no modern 
scholar would ever be able to decipher them, but the 


The Turn in the Road 


125 


legend says they would mean in modern language, 
‘Materialism.’ 

“This crystal was offered to Jesus by the Devil 
and He refused it, but not until after the Devil had 
induced Him to gaze into the depths of the crystal. 

“How it came into my possession I need not re¬ 
count. I never used it but once, and the consequence 
was so terrible that I have never looked on it again. I 
wrapped it securely in leather and hid it from view. 

“I dare not throw it away or attempt to destroy it, 
for if I did either I would forfeit my life. I can only 
give it away, and to a person of mature years, after 
explaining the penalty for the use of the stone. If I 
should attempt to give it to anyone without meeting 
these requirements I would be stricken dead. 

“The possessor of this stone can have any desire 
granted that he may hold for material possessions or 
power.” 

“Ah, I want it!” said Godfrey. “I’ll give you all 
I possess for it.” 

“Not for a million dollars would I sell it to you,“ 
the old man said. “I can only give it to you.” 

“Then give it to me!” Godfrey demanded hoarsely, 
“give it to me, and I’ll be your slave for life!” 

“Not my slave, young man, but the slave of the 
man who dwells in the stone,” the old man said, a 
shudder passing through his thin body. 

“There is just one thing more I must tell you,” he 
said, “and then you can choose. Every time a desire 
is gratified your soul will undergo a terrible change, 
and will shrink and shrivel and grow as hideous in 
appearance as the master of the stone who lives in it. 

“The time will come, if you continue to use it, 
when your soul will shrink to the vanishing point and 
go out on a cloud of evil miasma to wander for count¬ 
less aeons among all the evil horrors of earth. 


126 The: Bishop op the Ozarks 

“Are you willing to pay the price?” 

Godfrey’s hands were shaking now. This was the 
wild raving of a diseased mind, but somehow it had 
gotten on his nerves. He wanted to get away from 
the dark attic lighted by one small window,—away 
from the old madman who might at any moment 
spring upon him and fasten his talon-like fingers in 
his throat. However, to humor the situation until he 
could make his escape, he said: “Yes, I am ready to 
pay the price.” 

Silently the old man crossed the room, took a small 
key from about his neck and unlocked an ancient¬ 
looking chest covered with the dust of many years. 
He thrust his hand into the chest and drew from it a 
small package, securely wrapped and tied with leather 
thongs, and thrust it into Godfrey’s outstretched hand. 

“Now it’s yours, by your own free will and choice,” 
he said, his voice rising in excitement. “Take it home 
with you, and don’t dare open it until you are safe in 
your own room and have securely bolted your door. 
Then you can gaze your fill into the crystal, and what 
you see will stagger the human imagination. 

“Now, go, go!” he screamed, his voice rising to a 
high falsetto, “and never darken my door again.” 

Godfrey was only too glad of the opportunity to 
get away from the maniac, and hurried down the 
rickety stairs and out into the sunlight. 

His partner had tired of waiting for him and had 
gone, so Godfrey, still under the spell of the old curio- 
shop keeper, walked slowly toward his apartment. 

He turned the package over curiously in his hand 
and was about to throw it into the gutter when another 
impulse seized him, and he determined to take it to his 
room and examine it. 

On arriving there he placed some coal in the grate 
to drive the chill from the evening atmosphere, and 


The Turn in the Road 


127 


sat down to contemplate the package given him by old 
Peter Bardwell, whom everyone regarded as a little 
queer. 

Beside him on a table lay the Bible given him by 
his mother when he was ten years old. It was just 
before her demise, and although he never read it now, 
he still prized it because it was his mother’s last gift 
to him. 

With a cynical smile on his face he began idly to 
unwind the leather string, with which the package was 
tied. When that task was completed he began to 
remove the covering which consisted of several folds. 
The inner fold was of buckskin, and although yellow 
with age, was still soft and pliable. 

At last he held the crystal in his hand, turning it 
over and over, looking at it curiously. While it was 
of an unusual design, beautifully colored, he could see 
nothing about it to indicate its mysterious power. 

Idly he held it between him and the fire, now burn¬ 
ing brightly in the grate, and gazed quizzically at it, 
half smiling at the whole silly episode by which he 
became the possessor of the queer stone. 

Suddenly as he looked, he gave a start, and an ex¬ 
clamation of surprise escaped his lips. 

The thing seemed instinct with life. Something 
within the stone seemed to move, and he saw gaily 
colored lights dancing, taking many fantastic forms 
and shapes. 

Then a strange thing happened. He saw himself 
in the crystal, but he was clothed in the costume of 
ancient Egypt. He was a young man and knelt at 
the feet of a priest of Isis. 

He was praying for gold. He saw his prayer 
answered, and as the golden shower fell about him he 
struggled to rise above it. It fell in such heaps, how- 


128 The Bishop oE the Ozarks 

ever, that he could not escape, and he saw himself 
crushed beneath mountains of gold. 

Fascinated, he continued to gaze into the crystal 
depths. This time it was a panorama of many scenes. 
He saw himself at groaning banquet tables, fawned 
upon by callow youths, and loved by many women. 

Again he was crowned victor in a bacchanalian 
revelry. Always by his side he saw his double. He 
could not understand this. His double seemed to be 
in great sorrow, and often held out pleading hands to 
him, and sometimes his face was bathed in tears. 

He hated this double, and fain would have rid him¬ 
self of his other self, but he could not. By and by 
this other man began to shrink in stature and grow 
weak in body. Then he was glad and laughed at the 
prospect of being freed from this other man who 
followed him like a shadow. 

One night at a great feast, the double appeared as a 
dwarf. He was terribly emaciated, his face wan and 
pathetic, his step slow and uncertain. He threw a 
golden goblet at the dwarf, shaking his fist in great 
rage. 

The dwarf cast one last pleading look at the man 
and then seemed to go up in a column of curling smoke. 

He could not remove his gaze from the crystal 
although his hand now shook violently and his teeth 
chattered. Gripping the stone with ice-like fingers he 
looked for the next figure in the panorama. It soon 
appeared in the form of the devil of our childhood 
fancies. 

He heard, or thought he heard a voice say: 

“I have come to be your companion. I will take 
the place of your soul that has just vanished. You 
killed your soul, and I am to be your companion to the 
end of the journey. You have deliberately chosen me. 


The Turn in the: Road 


129 


“I am the power that grants all earthly desires. 
Having made your choice you can have any desire ful¬ 
filled. Before you take the final step and name your 
first desire you have the privilege of reading a passage 
in the Bible your mother gave you. 

“This is a greater talisman than mine, and at this 
stage of the initiation you are to read the passage 
which will open to your hand.” 

Without wanting to do so, Godfrey reached over on 
the table and picked up the Bible his mother gave 
him. Some force outside of himself opened it. He 
tried to turn away his head, but could not. There 
before his unwilling eyes lay the open book, and these 
words seemed written in letters of fire: 

“For what shall it profit a man if he shall gain 
the whole world and lose his own soul. 

“Or what shall a man give in exchange for his 
soul ?” 

The book closed as of its own accord and he gazed 
again into the crystal. Once more the voice whispered : 
“Now you know all, what is your choice?” 

“I want a million dollars!” Godfrey shouted 
defiantly, flinging the Bible into the glowing grate, 
laughing fiendishly as the leaves curled up in the flames 
showing the words: 

“For what shall it profit a man if he shall gain the 
whole world, and lose his own soul? 

“Or what shall a man give in exchange for his 
soul?” 

“To hell with my soul!” he cried, “give me gold! 
gold! gold!” 

There was an awful crash as of thunder. The 
room was ablaze with a phosphorescent light. God¬ 
frey was blinded and reached out his hands groping for 
the table where his mother’s Bible had recently rested. 


130 


The Bishop op the Ozarks 


He missed the table and staggered. He grew dizzy. 
A terrible sickness seized him, and he felt that some 
awful form of death was on him. 

With a feeble cry of “Help! help!” he fell uncon¬ 
scious on the floor. 

How long he lay there, he did not know. A loud 
knock at his door finally aroused him. The fire in the 
grate had burned out and not even the ashes of his 
mother’s Bible were left. His chair and the table 
were overturned, but he still clutched the evil crystal 
in his hand. 

Feebly he walked to the door and unbolted it. A 
Western Union Messenger held a telegram in his hand. 

“You must have been sleeping soundly,” he said, 
“and I thought I never would wake you. Don’t blame 
you much, though, for it’s just midnight now, the time 
when a fellow sleeps the soundest.” 

He signed for the message mechanically and when 
the messenger had gone, closed his door and turned to 
the light to read his telegram. 

He sat gazing at it for a long time without seeing 
the words. Then they began to dawn on his be¬ 
numbed senses. It was of the following tenor: 

“Melbourne, Australia, 

April 10th, 1920. 

Dr. Earl Godfrey, 

Birmingham, Ala. 

We take pleasure in informing you of the fact that 
you are the sole legatee in the will of your maternal 
uncle the late Edward Spruel, who departed this life 
the 10th ult. The estate is conservatively valued at 
one million dollars American money. Command our 
services. 

HORN & HORN, 
Barristers.” 


The Turn in the Road 


131 


He could scarcely believe his eyes. He had heard 
of this wealthy uncle, but had never dreamed of being 
remembered in his will. Surely there must be some 
mistake. If not—if not—but he dare think no further. 

He put on his hat, turned out the light and started 
down the deserted street to the telegraph office to wire 
for confirmation and full particulars. 

When Dr. Burroughs left the second-hand book 
shop of Peter Bardwell he went to his room with a 
fast beating heart. He was the possessor of a picture 
of Christ and he planned to hang it on the wall beside 
his mother’s. She had taught him the story of Jesus 
when he was a little fellow, and a great love for the 
Master had found a lodgment in his young heart. 

With much care and tenderness he hung the picture 
on the wall where he could get a good view of it and 
his mother’s at the same time. 

As the twilight shadows fell he was reading his 
mother’s Bible, the one given to her by her mother, 
and entrusted to him as her last and most sacred gift 
on her deathbed. 

He had just read the passage: 

“For God so loved the world that He gave His 
only begotten Son that whosoever believeth on Him 
should not perish, but have everlasting life.” 

Just across the street stood his mother’s church, 
where she worshiped when he was a boy. 

The evening chimes were ringing. Softly at first, 
then louder and louder the deep toned bells pealed 
forth: 

“Jesus Lover of my soul, 

Let me to thy bosom fly, 

While the nearer waters roll, 

While the tempest still is high.” 


132 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


Stretching forth his hands to the figure of Christ 
on the cross hanging on the wall he said reverently: 

“Jesus, my Master, I will leave all and follow 
Thee.” 

As the last notes of the chimes died away on the 
evening breeze, he wended his way across the street 
and entered the pew where he had sat by his mother 
for the last time. 


CHAPTER XI 

The Partnership Is Dissolved 

The next morning Dr. Burroughs was at his office 
early to receive his charity patients, before the arrival 
of those whose wealth and social position made it pos¬ 
sible for them to come at their own convenience. 

Some half dozen were waiting when he arrived, 
and the joy in their faces on seeing him, was worth 
more to him, than a shower of golden fees would 
have been. 

His cheery, “Good morning!” and other kindly 
greetings, meant more to these poor, helpless creatures, 
than would have a drug store of medicines, prescribed 
by the most celebrated physician in the city. 

One by one, the patients entered his private office 
to emerge in a short time, with hope in their faces 
and a firmer step which seemed to say: “I am almost 
well already.” 

As the hour became late, the patients, waiting for 
Dr. Godfrey, became impatient and inquired about his 
absence. 

Dr. Burroughs came out of his office, and tele¬ 
phoned the apartments where his partner lived, to be 
informed that the doctor had left at the usual time, 
saying he was going to the bank. 

After another long wait, some of the patients left, 
grumbling about Godfrey’s lack of business punctuality. 

Burroughs sent a messenger to the bank, where he 
and his partner had their accounts, to inquire if he 
had been there. 

In half an hour, the messenger returned with the 
information that Godfrey had been there for a few 
minutes, just after the bank opened and had told the 
president that he was not going to his office. 


134 Ti-ie: Bishop of the Ozarks 

This news greatly perplexed Burroughs and he 
hurried his examinations, hoping to get through so he 
could go to find his partner. He felt that something 
serious must have happened, for Godfrey had always 
been a martinet about being on time. 

The minutes dragged slowly by, and Burroughs was 
about to dismiss the remaining patients and close the 
office when Godfrey entered. At first glance Bur¬ 
roughs knew that something vital had happened to 
Godfrey, since he parted from him at Peter Bardwell’s 
shop. 

A premonition of evil clutched at his heart as he 
looked into his partner’s face even before he spoke. 
His first words confirmed the fear that something had 
transpired that had changed the whole tenor of God¬ 
frey’s life; something that would place an insurmount¬ 
able barrier between them. 

“I have come to tell you of my good fortune,” he 
said in a quick, nervous voice, very unlike the usual 
calm, deliberate tones of Godfrey. “Also to inform 
you that I am retiring from the practice of medicine 
and will give notice to that effect in the morning 
paper. 

“You may have all the office equipment, also the 
bills due the firm. If our assets are not sufficient to 
liquidate our debts, you can inform me of any short¬ 
age and I will pay it. I want my name clear from 
any financial obligations, as I am about to start to 
really live for the first time in my life. 

“Heretofore, I have only existed, been a slave, but 
now,—I am to be free. I am going to live the life of 
a gentleman of leisure.” 

Burroughs, thinking that his friend was not well, 
fearing that some affliction of the brain had seized him 
suddenly, took him gently by the arm and said kindly, 


The Partnership is Dissolved 135 

“You are not well. Come into my office and let me 
examine you.” But Godfrey pulled rudely away 
from him saying: “I am perfectly well, you are the 
sick man. You are a sick dreamer, and need a dose 
of common sense; but I have not time to administer 
it to you. You will go on dreaming about your soul; 
wasting your time on a lot of people who possess 
neither money nor gratitude. The time has come, 
when you and I must choose different roads. Mine 
leads to all that this world can give; the gratification 
of every earthly desire, while yours will doubtless lead 
you to starve in a garret, in your old age.” 

“I do not understand what you are saying, Earl! 
It takes wealth to live the life that you suggest,— 
and we are as poor as church mice.” 

“‘Poor/ did you say? Haven’t you heard the 
good news ? I thought everybody in Birmingham 
knew it by this time. 

“There was an ‘Extra’ out, announcing it in big 
head-lines! As I came along the street, people turned 
and stared and pointed at me, whispering, ‘There he 
goes! That’s the lucky man !’ 

“Well, last night I received a cablegram from a 
firm of lawyers in Melbourne, Australia, informing me 
that I am the sole heir to an estate, worth a million 
dollars! I cabled for confirmation and received it 
this morning. 

“Then I went to our bank and showed the cable¬ 
gram to the teller at the window. He took it to the 
president, and—in a jiffy I was in his private office! 
He said he remembered me quite well and had always 
held me in the highest esteem. 

“He suggested that he cable the bank’s correspond¬ 
ent in Melbourne and arrange for an immediate accom¬ 
modation of one hundred thousand dollars. He did 


136 The Bishop op the Ozarks 

so and that amount is NOW SUBJECT TO MY 
CHECK in that bank. 

“By the time this transaction was completed, I was 
besieged by reporters, automobile dealers and real 
estate men. Well,—I have purchased the swellest car 
in Birmingham and I have also inspected a beautiful 
home on Highland avenue. 

“Now, I am going to invite Margey Chapman to 
take a ride in my new machine, and I shall show her 
this mansion that I think of buying. 

“You may as well know it first as last,” Godfrey 
continued in a highly excited manner, “that I intend 
to make her my wife! NEXT to money, I desire 
HER!—I knew THAT would make you turn pale 
and tremble; I knew that you fell for her the first 
moment you saw her! 

“From this time on, we are rivals and it is war to 
the knife; I shall win, for I have money, and I am 
going to win,—no matter what the cost U 

Burroughs was swept by a multitude of contending 
emotions. Rising above all others, was the feeling of 
pity for the man he had loved since childhood. They 
had been friends, chums, partners,—were closer than 
most brothers. They had endured many hardships to¬ 
gether, and—now,—at the threshold of what seemed 
like a brilliant career and a life-long friendship, to have 
these sacred ties thus rudely severed,—smote the big 
heart of Burroughs a cruel blow. 

Placing both hands on his friend’s shoulders and 
looking into his burning eyes he said: “Earl, we must 
not part like this! We have loved each other always! 
Our ideals may be different, but that makes no dif¬ 
ference in my love for you. Sometimes, I have 
thought that it made me love you even more. I think 
you are wrong about your views of life, of money; of 


The Partnership is Dissolved 


137 


man and his destiny, but that need not alter our friend¬ 
ship. 

“You talk wildly of a supposed rivalry for the 
hand of Miss Chapman. This fancy is the child of 
your brain, that has been unduly excited by your sud¬ 
den acquisition of great wealth. If there were such a 
rivalry as your imagination conjures, and you were 
the successful one, it would make no difference in our 
friendship; it would not alter my love for you. No 
matter how keenly I might feel the loss, I would be 
big enough and loyal enough to wish God’s blessing 
on you both.” 

“That’s some more of your sentimental rot!” 
Godfrey exclaimed, irritably drawing away from Bur¬ 
roughs’ friendly hand. “All’s fair in love and war 
you know, and rivals for a woman’s hand could never 
be friends.” 

“I cannot give up your friendship, Earl! I cannot 
let you go! I need you and I believe you need me. 
Won’t you unsay your cruel words? I know you do 
not mean what your words import. I’ll give up any¬ 
body in this world before I’ll have you go out my life 
like this.” 

For a moment Godfrey appeared to waver, then, 
summoning all his will power, he turned abruptly on 
his heel to leave the office. “It is too late,” he said. 
“I have made my choice and now I could not turn 
back if I would and—I would not if I could.” 

Without another word, without a hand clasp or 
farewell glance, he was gone. 

As his footsteps died away down the corridor, 
Burroughs sank in a chair and buried his face in his 
hands. 

It required but half an hour for Godfrey to speed 
out Highland Avenue and on over Red Mountains to 
Sunny Vale. 


138 The Bishop of the Ozarks 

Margey was surprised at his unexpected call, but 
visibly pleased and flattered. She remembered so 
vividly their meeting, the previous day. 

She introduced him to the “Shepherd Woman,” ex¬ 
plaining she was an old-time friend from the Ozarks, 
who was known to everyone as the “Shepherd 
Woman.” The latter’s penetrating glance caused 
Godfrey a feeling of uneasiness, which Margey ob¬ 
served but could not understand. 

In his most ingratiating manner Godfrey invited 
Margey for a spin across the mountain, saying he had 
just purchased a new car and wanted her to share 
his pleasure in trying it out. 

Ordinarily, Margey would have asked the “Bish¬ 
op’s” permission, but for some perverse reason, she did 
not herself understand, she accepted the invitation 
at once. 

The “Shepherd Woman” was displeased, though 
she did not show it, but when she said: “I think the 
‘Bishop’ has other plans for the evening,” Margey 
sensed in the tones of her voice her keen disapproval 
of Dr. Godfrey. 

“We will be back in time for any plans he may 
have!” answered Margey, with a little note of defiance 
in her voice. 

As she and her escort were entering the car, old 
Simon came up and made his most polite bow. As 
he raised his eyes, looking squarely at Godfrey, he 
threw up his hands, as if warding off some unpleasant 
sight. A look of terror swept over his face, which 
no one observed except the “Shepherd Woman.” 

As the automobile sped away, the black face of the 
old man, had taken on an ashen hue. He seemed 
faint, and swayed from side to side, as though about 
to fall. Unsteadily he walked to a rustic seat, and 


The Partnership is Dissolved 139 

almost fell into it. Rubbing his eyes with his hand, 
he exclaimed: “I wondah if my ole eyes is foolin’ 
me!” He had forgotten the presence of the “Shepherd 
Woman” and kept talking to himself. “Somethin’ tur- 
rible gwine tu happen, ef I done seen what I thought 
I did!” 

The “Shepherd Woman” overheard him and feeling 
curious as to the cause of his perturbation, asked him 
what he had seen. 

Simon had known and reverenced the “Shepherd 
Woman” for twenty years, and realizing her loyalty 
and devotion to Margey, felt that he could talk freely 
to her and that she would understand. 

“I membahs heahin’ you say once, dat yo’ b’leibed 
in sperits,” the old man said. “An’ mebbe yo’ kin 
egsplain what my ole eyes done seed a minute ago, 
ef my ole eyes didn’t deceive!” 

Upon being encouraged by the “Shepherd Woman,” 
he went on: 

“When I seed dat young doctah at church yister- 
day, I seed his sperit; it wus des his size; it wus dark, 
an’ dat mean, it wa’n’t no good sperit. But when I 
seed his sperit, a minute ago—it wa’n’t nuthin’ lak 
as tall an’ big as it wus Sunday. It had done shrunk 
up lak ole Pompey’s fish. An’ de sperit’s face wus 
sumphin’ awful! It skeered me. It had turned lots 
darkah, des ’bout de color ob ah ginger-cake nigger. 

“An’ den I seed sumphin’ else, yisterday, I’se gwine 
tu tell yo’ ’bout. I didn’t aim tu tell nobody—not yit 
at least, but I’se gwine tu tell yo’ now, becase deres got 
tu be sumphin’ dun ef dar kin be.” 

The old man had approached close to the “Shepherd 
Woman.” He glanced around, furtively, as if he feared 
someone would overhear him. 

“Mis’ Margey’s got two sperits!” he said in a whis¬ 
per. “I seed bofe ob ’em yisterday—but not at de 


140 The: Bishop op the Ozarks 

same time! When one wus acomin’ de tudder one 
was agwine. 

“When she talked tu dis young doctah, her sperit 
wus dark lak hisen, an’ de face skeered me. I seed 
danger in dat face! It wa’n’t our Mis’ Margey—it 
wus somebudy else. 

“Den, when she hole de han’ ob de tudder young 
doctah, de evil lookin’ sperit done turned her back; 
she wus mad, an’ den in its place dare cum de most 
butiful sperit, in the wold! Des lak Mis’ Margey, 
when she stan’ up an’ sing tu dem convicts! Oh! 
It wus as bright as day, dat sperit wus! 

“Awhile ago when dis doctah come, de dark sperit 
come an’ got in de outermobile wid her! What do 
it all mean?” 

The “Shepherd Woman” tried to soothe the old 
man’s fears, in vain. 

“I thot at furst, mebe it war my eyes—but dis heart 
ob mine done tell me it wus sumphin’ black a-hangin’ 
obah dat deah chile. 

“Oh, if her mothah wus only heah tu hulp me! I 
promised her, on her death bed to protec’ dat baby— 
an’ I’se gwine tu do it, ef God gibe me de strength.” 

The “Bishop” came in and inquired for Margey, 
and the “Shepherd Woman” told him that she had 
gone for a drive with Dr. Godfrey. 

A frown of dissatisfaction passed over his face. 

“I do not approve of Dr. Godfrey,” he said, “but 
I feel that his partner is a great soul. I can hardly 
imagine two men of such opposite types being in part¬ 
nership. 

“I wanted Margey to go with us this evening,” he 
continued, “to visit that poor family you have been 
telling me about. I am most anxious for her to come 
in contact with this phase of life, for she is so admir- 


The Partnership is Dissolved 141 

ably fitted to work among the poor women and chil¬ 
dren.” 

‘‘There she is now!” said the “Shepherd Woman,” 
as she saw Margey alight from Godfrey’s machine. 

In another instant she had bounded into the house, 
and Godfrey was seen, racing away at a breakneck 
speed. 

Margey was in high spirits. Her eyes were shining 
like dew-drops; her face was flushed with animation. 

“I should have asked you, dad!” she said, half 
apologetically, “but I knew you would not object. He 
is such a wonderful man! So different from any one 
else I have ever met. He has such wonderful ideas 
of life, too! 

“He has just inherited a fortune of one million dol¬ 
lars ! And he is going to retire from the practice of 
medicine and is going to just have a good time. He 
has bought a beautiful home on Highland avenue; 
such a perfect place, and he wants you and the ‘Shep¬ 
herd Woman’ to visit him. He says he will keep 
‘bachelor’s hall’ until he finds some girl whose views 
of life coincide with his, and then he will make her 
his wife.” 

“Suppose the girl is not willing?” said the “Shep¬ 
herd Woman.” 

“Oh, he said most women could be bought with 
gold ! That sounded so odd ; so daring! I took up the 
challenge and said: ‘I'd like to see any one buy ME 
with gold!’ Then he laughed and said: ‘Of course, 
present company is always excepted.’ 

“Oh, it was just too clever for anything. I am 
perfectly charmed with his originality!” 

The “Bishop’s” face was a study. Here was a side 
of Margey’s nature he had never suspected. He felt 
stunned; he thought of scores of things he might say 
to her, but in the end held his peace. 


142 The: Bishop of the Ozarks 

“I am glad you are back, dear,” he said gently. 
“I am going with the ‘Shepherd Woman’ on a mission 
of mercy and I want you to go with us.” 

He told her briefly the sad story as related to him 
by the “Shepherd Woman.” 

Margey’s whole manner changed almost instantly. 
She was, again, the tender, sympathetic and unselfish 
girl, ready for any self sacrifice. 

Simon, who was assisting in the preparations for 
the visit, heaved a sigh of relief and even smiled as 
he gazed fondly at Margey. 

After she had filled a basket with good things to 
eat, she bearing one side and Simon the other, they 
placed it in the automobile, which was a gift from the 
“Shepherd Woman” to the “Bishop.” 

Simon acted as chauffeur, and the party of four 
was soon on the way to the city. 

From the top of Red Mountain they had a wonder¬ 
ful view of the city with its myriads of twinkling 
electric lights, while beyond the furnaces shot great 
pillars of smoke and flame skyward. 

Finally, they reached the house they were seeking. 
It was a tumble-down wooden shack, in the iron- 
furnace district, where none but negroes and wretch¬ 
edly poor whites lived. It consisted of two rooms, 
miserably furnished. 

In one, the family cooked and ate when they had 
anything to cook. In the other, the family of seven 
slept; five children and the father and mother. 

The man was not at home when they arrived. The 
woman, who still showed some trace of faded beauty, 
stood by a cot on which a little boy of five years 
tossed restlessly calling some one. 

“He is calling the doctor,” the woman explained. 

“He always comes at night about the same time, 
but he is late tonight and Tommy is impatient. 


The Partnership is Dissolved 


143 


“He can never go to sleep until after the doctor 
comes, and when he comes, he always brings him some¬ 
thing he can eat, and then holds him on his lap and 
tells him funny fairy stories until Tommy forgets his 
pain and goes to sleep. 

“Then he lays him back on the cot and slips out. 

“One night Tommy was delirious,” the mother con¬ 
tinued, noting their kindly interest, “and held onto 
the doctor’s hand. Every time the doctor tried to 
take his hand away, the kid would wake up. So what 
did he do but set there all night and hold Tommy’s 
hand and let him sleep. 

“Oh, he’s God’s man, miss,” she said, addressing 
Margey, whose interest attracted the woman’s atten¬ 
tion. “If there ever was sech. Most men is so mean 
that when you meet one like him you feel like gittin’ 
down on yore knees to him.” 

“What is his name ?” eagerly inquired Margey. 

“It is Dr. Godfrey,” answered the woman. “There 
is two of them, what’s partners, ‘Godfrey and Bur¬ 
roughs’—I wanted Dr. Godfrey because I had heard 
about him, and so I sent my biggest gal fer him an’ 
tole her to say I didn’t want nobody but Dr. Godfrey. 
So when he come, he laughed an’ sed it wus quite a 
compliment to him.” 

Margey was puzzled,—here was a new side to the 
young doctor’s character, one she had not suspected. 
She wondered if he had been trying to conceal his 
real nature from her by all his cynical talk. 

“I hear him cornin’ now,” said the woman, as a 
knock was heard on the door. 

Without going to the door, she called out, “Come 

in.” 

The door opened and a man entered and stood in 
the light. 


144 The: Bishop op the Ozarks 

“This is Dr. Godfrey,” the woman said by way of 
introduction. 

There was a moment of tense embarrassment. 

Burroughs confronted unexpectedly by Margey and 
the others, was as awkward as a bashful country boy. 

The tension was relieved by Margey, who grasped 
him warmly by the hand. 

“I am Margey Chapman,” she said, “whom you 
met at the brush arbor service recently. You are Dr. 
Burroughs, I believe?” 

Stammeringly he replied in the affirmative. 

“I thought you wus Dr. Godfrey,” said the per¬ 
plexed woman. “I sent for him, but I’m glad it wus 
you that come.” 

After being introduced to the “Bishop” and the 
“Shepherd Woman,” Burroughs explained to them 
that Tommy seemed to be afflicted with some malady 
that would not respond to medical treatment. 

Later, he told the “Bishop” in a whispered conver¬ 
sation held in one corner of the room, he thought the 
end was only a few hours away. 

“Do you believe in spiritual healing?" the “Bishop” 
asked him. 

“I do not disbelieve in it,” replied Burroughs. “It 
ought to be possible. Christ healed and I have always 
thought we could do so, too, if we had faith.” 

A staggering step was heard on the doorstep, and 
the children ran into the adjoining room. The wife 
looked frightened and leaned over the sick child as if 
she would shield him with her body. 

A large man, with straggling beard, long hair and 
besotted face, staggered into the room. 

“What the hell does all this mean?” he said. “A 

preacher, doctor, two women and a d-d nigger; he 

must be the undertaker. I wonder whose funeral is 
goin’ to be held?” 



The Partnership is Dissolved 


145 


“It’ll be little Tommy’s, pa, if you keep on talkin’ 
that way,” weakly answered his wife. 

Steadying himself, the man said in a half frightened 
sort of way, “Is he wus, ma?” 

“Yes, he’s bin outen his head all day. He keeps 
callin’ fer the doctor, but don’t know nothin’ you say 
to him.” 

The man seemed to sober up a bit and turned to 
the young doctor and said: “Can’t you do nothin’ 
more fer him, Doc?” 

“I have exhausted my skill,” answered Burroughs. 
“There is nothing I can do to save him. I have just 
been talking to this man,” indicating the “Bishop.” “He 
is a man of God. Perhaps, through him, God can heal 
your boy.” 

“I ain’t never had no faith in God,” responded the 
father. “But if He cures Tommy, I’ll try to be a 
better man the rest of my life.” 

“Then let us ask Him to heal your son,” said the 
“Bishop” reverently. 

He stretched forth his hands above the delirious 
child. 

“Let us pray.” 

The woman quietly slipped from her chair to her 
knees. The children had returned from the other 
room and stood just inside the doorway and followed 
their mother’s example. Dr. Burroughs bowed his 
head between his hands, while Margey, the “Shepherd 
Woman” and Simon assumed attitudes of devotion. 

The father looked around as if uncertain what to 
do, then, shamefacedly, knelt—perhaps for the first 
time in his life. 

“Our Father,” the “Bishop” prayed, “Thou alone 
hast the words of eternal life and Thou alone canst 
heal. All healing comes from Thee. Whether it be an 
aching heart, the diseased body or the sin-sick soul. 


146 


The: Bishop of the Ozarks 


“We have faith that Thou canst heal this child— 
at this very moment—and also the broken heart of 
this wife and mother and the sin-scarred soul of this 
Thy son, the father of little Tommy. 

“In Thy name and by the power promised us by 
Thy Son, Jesus, I pronounce these dear ones every 
whit whole ! Amen !” 

For a little time no one stirred. Then, from the 
couch, the piping voice of Tommy called: 

“Oh, daddy, I had such a beautiful dream! An 
angel came and touched me and I was well! You 
were all dressed up like you used to be, and ma was 
smiling and we wus all goin’ to Sunday School!” 

He had arisen from the couch and looked around, 
wonderingly.' 

“Was I sick very long?” he asked. “Seemed to 
me like it has been a long time, but I’m well now.” 

He clapped his hands and laughed. His father 
seemed to undergo a complete transformation. The 
hard, brutal face relaxed and softer lines appeared 
instead. 

He was sober now and started toward the couch 
where his wife was sitting by Tommy, wringing her 
hands, in an ecstasy of joy. He grabbed her like a 
big bear and she began to cry and shrink away from 
him in terror. 

“Don’t hit me, Bill! Fer God’s sake, don’t hit me, 
when God’s just done such a wonderful thing for 
Tommy!” 

“Shut up, Nancy, you blamed fool!” the man said, 
now laughing like a big boy. “I’m goin’ to hug you 
like I used to when you wus a gal, afore we got mar¬ 
ried.” 

Now, hysterical with happiness, the woman threw 
herself in his arms, weeping and laughing in the same 
breath. 


The: Partnership is Dissolver 


147 


“I got one on you, ma,” the eldest girl said, snick¬ 
ering. "I heerd you say pa never hugged you until 
after you wus married!” 

'‘Well, it ain’t nobody’s business, ef he did,” the 
happy woman retorted. "An’ ef you kin find as good 
a man as mine, I don’t keer ef he hugs you afore he 
marries you.” 

Simon and Margey unloaded the big basket on the 
dining room table, and it was a happy family that sat 
down to a joyous meal. 

"Daddy, I want to help Dr. Burroughs with his 
poor patients,” said Margey. "He says he would like 
to have me.” 

"Nothing could give me greater pleasure and joy, 
my child,” the "Bishop” declared, swallowing a big 
lump in his throat. 

When the "Bishop’s” party was ready to depart, 
they invited Dr. Burroughs to join them, but he de¬ 
clined, saying he had other charity calls to make before 
returning home. 

As he bade them good night, Margey held his hand 
for an unnecessary length of time. Leaning far out 
of the car until her lips almost touched his ear, she 
whispered: "This has been the happiest day of my 
life!” 

It is no wonder that there was a new song in Percy 
Burrough’s heart as he walked home beneath the 
twinkling stars. 


CHAPTER XII 

The Contending Forces 

Doctor Burroughs, after the healing of the sick 
child by the “Bishop,” began to rely less and less upon 
medicine in his practice. He often talked with the 
“Bishop” about drugless healing and became a firm 
believer in it. 

“I don’t disparage medicine,” said the “Bishop.” “1 
know the same power that heals can transmute medi¬ 
cine into a healing agency. When we understand that 
every form of drug, every atom and particle in the 
universe is of the same essence and nature, and that 
the only thing that makes one piece of matter a dia¬ 
mond and another a gold nugget, is the different rates 
at which they vibrate—we begin to perceive what 
takes place when one is healed. 

“We also learn that all healing is spiritual healing 
because all medicine, as well as all other forms of 
matter are but physical or material manifestations of 
spirit. 

“Spirit can command or control these spiritual 
manifestations in the form of matter. Therefore all 
healing should be instantaneous, just as Christ healed. 
And it would be, if we understood the law and had 
faith to command as He did. 

“In the absence of this knowledge and faith, how¬ 
ever, it is frequently necessary to resort to drugs and 
various other forms of physical treatment. 

“Some day, when we fully understand the law, no 
one will need healing, for everyone will be whole.” 

Burroughs often applied this law in his practice and 
his cures became so remarkable they attracted wide¬ 
spread attention. Many of them were so sensational 


The: Contending Forced 


149 


that he was summoned before the Medical Board 
and charged with unprofessional conduct. 

The members of the medical board said such in¬ 
stantaneous cures could not be performed by medicine, 
and that any other form of healing was unprofes¬ 
sional. 

Another cause of complaint was that when other 
doctors gave their patients up to die, they sent for 
Burroughs and often he had them well in a very short 
time. This was the grossest sort of unprofessional 
conduct. Better by far let them die, the doctors said. 

The evidence, however, showed that Burroughs 
used medicine, occasionally, and as no one could prove 
that he ever did or said anything to indicate he was 
practicing some other method of healing, the board 
was compelled to drop the charge of drugless healing. 

To the second charge, he said: 

“I plead guilty! Whenever I am sent for to see a 
man supposed to be dying, who has been given up 
by another doctor, I am going to see him and save his 
life, if I can. 

“If that is ‘unprofessional’ conduct, you may as 
well revoke my license to practice now as later, for 
I shall continue to do so.” 

This was a challenge to the learned board. They 
dared not revoke his license for this cause. They 
knew the sentiment of the people would be bitterly 
aroused against them if they took such action—so, 
after a severe reprimand, the charges were dismissed. 

Burroughs gave much attention to difficult surgical 
cases, and his skill became so great that people began 
to say he was divinely inspired and guided in his 
operations. 

His diagnosis of disease was infallible and so in¬ 
stantaneous on coming into the presence of the patient, 
that it was often startling. 


150 


The Bishop of the Ozarks 


He confided the secret of his power to Margey, and 
she was spellbound at the revelation. 

“There is a wonderful physician and surgeon in the 
spirit world,” he explained, “who comes to me in all 
difficult cases. He was celebrated in the earth life, 
but he tells me he has made marvelous progress on 
the other side and has been given the privilege of work¬ 
ing through me and other physicians over the world. 

“Being in the Spirit world, he can see what is invis¬ 
ible to me, so he guides my hand in difficult cases of 
surgery, also makes my diagnoses for me.” 

“Oh, this is wonderful!” exclaimed Margey. “How 
I wish I could be used as an instrument for good, by 
the spiritual forces, on the other side!” 

“You are being used, Margey, in many ways. You 
are such a great soul, that I know you have experi¬ 
enced many previous incarnations. 

“Look at your work with the people of Happy Val¬ 
ley and later in Sunny Vale, among the convicts. Now 
you are interested in the poor, whom I am treating. 
You are their good angel, bringing them food and 
flowers,-—more than that,—the sunshine of your pres¬ 
ence.” 

Dr. Burroughs had fitted up a tiny studio, in his 
apartment, where he had hung the painting of Christ 
on the cross, and a few other paintings he had ac¬ 
quired. 

One day, he invited Margey to the studio. She was 
greatly surprised. 

“I did not know you were an artist!” she ex¬ 
claimed, “when did you learn to paint?” 

“Oh, I can’t paint,” he laughingly replied, “I only 
hold the brush and make strokes with it.” 

When she saw specimens of his work, she went 
into ecstasies. 


The Contending Forces 


151 


“It is unbelievable!" she cried. “Tell me about it. 
There is some mystery, I am sure.” 

They were now seated in his studio and Margey 
felt some mysterious spell. A sensation of peace, jov 
and spiritual exaltation filled her soul. 

Burroughs experienced the same feeling. They 
both felt a Divine inflowing of the Spirit, understood 
by none, except those who have felt its unspeakable 
presence and power. 

It is the quickener of genius; the inspirer of noble 
deeds; the soul of great love between man and woman! 

“I could tell no one in this world but you,” he said, 
“for I would be laughed at and, perhaps, be called 
insane. But I know you will understand, and not 
think less of me when I tell you. 

“I have sat for hours, studying the face of Christ 
on the cross. As I did so, a great love came into my 
soul for Him. He became the master passion of my 
life, until one day, I saw a woman-” 

He stopped abruptly, and was silent so long, that 
Margey, to bring him out of his abstraction asked, 
“Pray tell me the name of the woman.” 

“Oh, that would spoil the story,” he answered. “I 
may tell it to you some day,—but not now. It's a 
strange story, and gave me the key to a picture I am 
going to paint. 

“In the meantime, I have been doing these sketches, 
you see. When I paint the other picture, you must not 
see it until it is finished. 

“But to get back to my story. One day as I looked 
at the painting of the Christ, a voice said to me, Taint!’ 
I said, T cannot paint, I don’t even know how to mix 
colors.’ The voice said, T will show you. Get some 
colors and brushes and I will prove to you that you 
can paint.’ 



152 The Bishop op the Ozarks 

“I did so, and was astounded to find that I could 
paint. Then under the influence of this guide, I fitted 
up this studio, and am told that now I am ready to 
paint a masterpiece! 

“Do you feel uncanny in my presence, Margey? Do 
I seem sane and normal to you ?” 

“I think I understand,” she answered, “and I ex¬ 
perience a thrill of joy, when you tell me all this ! To 
my mind, it is a remarkable proof that there are 
intelligences on the other side and that they can and 
do influence and help us. 

“And now,” she continued earnestly, “I am going 
to confide a terrible secret to you; one that I have 
never breathed to anyone else. 

“I am the victim, puppet or plaything of two op¬ 
posing forces. I don’t understand it at all. All I know 
is that I seem to be two personalities. They are the 
exact opposites of each other, in their tastes, desires, 
and everything. 

“When under the influence of one of these person¬ 
alities, I love the things I love now—lofty music, 
beautiful paintings and ministering to the helpless. 

“When the other personality possesses me, I want 
to rush out in the wind, race through the forest, dance 
to the strains of jazz music, and do,— oh, such dread¬ 
ful things! Tell me what it is.” 

“Some day I may be able to give you a satisfactory 
explanation,” he said, “but now I, like you, don’t quite 
understand. Tell me, which one of the personalities 
possesses you when I am with you?” he asked. “Per¬ 
haps this may furnish a clue to the puzzle.” 

“When I am with you, I want to be good, noble, 
great! I want to help humanity. I feel, like Jesus, I 
too, could die for the sins of the whole world!” 

Going over to the piano, she ran her fingers over the 





“Will my other dreams come true, Margey? Dare I hope? 




The: Contending Forces 


153 


keys. “This is how I feel this moment/’ she said, and 
then sang softly,— 

“All to Jesus, I surrender! 

Humbly, at His feet I bow; 

Worldly pleasures, all forsaken; 

Take me, Jesus, take me now!” 

When she had finished, she arose and turned to¬ 
ward Burroughs. He had been drinking in every word 
and now stood trembling before her. 

“I put this piano here, dreaming that some day you 
would play and sing the song you have just sung! 

“Will my other dreams come true, Margey? Dare 
I hope?” 

Margey could not speak. Her eyelids drooped, her 
bosom heaved, her body swayed, she put out her hand 
as if groping in the dark. As she did so, her hand 
came in contact with his. He grasped it, convulsively, 
a thrill like an electric current vibrated through their 
bodies; their souls responded to the witchery of love’s 
magic spell, and Margey found herself lying unresist¬ 
ingly in her lover’s arms, drinking in his kisses, as the 
parched grass drinks the heavenly dew. 

“Will you be mine?” he said, at last, his voice 
thrilling with the Divine fire of a holy passion. 

Another bolt of electricity ran through Margey’s 
being. She stood upright, rigid as a statue. A look 
of fear crept into her eyes. She shrank from the man 
whose kisses had been to her the nectar of the gods, a 
few moments before. 

“Oh! I’m afraid! Afraid!” she cried. “God help 
me! I would like to say ‘Yes,’ but that other person¬ 
ality, I told you about, is dragging me away from you! 
Good-by! Good-by!” 

She rushed from the studio, and before he could 
comprehend her meaning she was gone. 


154 


The: Bishop of the Ozarks 


Margey walked in a dazed condition to a taxi stand. 
She was almost incoherent, when she directed the 
driver to her home. On the way her brain was in a 
mad whirl. She was fighting a battle between two con¬ 
tending emotions, and the outcome seemed doubtful. 

If her father chanced to be home, a moment in his 
presence would turn the tide of battle toward the side 
of her better self. Perhaps the “Shepherd Woman” or 
even Simon might have the same effect on her. 

If none of these were about the premises,—a 
cheery word from Buck Garrett, the one-time bad man 
of “Devil’s Den,” would, no doubt, exorcise the evil 
spirit, struggling for ascendancy. 

When she descended from the taxi, it was dark, 
and there were no lights in the house. She then re¬ 
membered that her father, the “Shepherd Woman,” 
Buck Garrett, and Simon were to meet her in the city, 
and within half an hour! 

This all came to her after she had dismissed the 
taxi. She was about to enter the house, greatly vexed 
with herself, when she heard the whirr of an approach¬ 
ing automobile. 

With a blinding flash, the machine stopped and a 
man alighted, hastily. It was Earl Godfrey! Fault¬ 
lessly attired in a tailor-made suit, he was beaming 
with enthusiasm. 

“I have something wonderful to tell you!” he said 
in breathless excitement. “There is to be a swell 
masked ball tonight, and the big society folks are all 
going. I was fortunate in securing an invitation, so 
have come for you. What a glorious time we can have ! 
Will you go?” 

Margey was now as much excited as Godfrey. 
The personality she feared, yet loved, had triumphed. 
Indeed this triumph was complete at the first sound of 
Godfrey’s voice. 


The Contending Forces 


155 


“How can 1 go?” she asked. “I have no costume, 
so I cannot mask, and I—I—I—wouldn’t know what 
to do if I went.” 

“Oh, I have provided for all such contingencies. I 
have a lady friend who will provide the costume, and 
as for knowing what to do, you will not be at a loss. 

“You can do as the others do. Nobody will recog¬ 
nize you, unless you unmask.” 

With wildly beating heart, the now thoroughly 
excited girl stepped into the machine, and they raced 
back across the mountain and on to Godfrey’s resi¬ 
dence. 

“My lady friend is here waiting for us,” he ex¬ 
plained, “and will assist you in dressing.” 

He ushered her into his newly furnished house, 
where she was met by his “lady friend,” whose coarsely 
familiar greeting would have annoyed Margey in any 
other mood. 

As it was, she laughed heartily, bringing forth the 
remark from the woman: 

“I was afraid you were a tenderfoot, but I guess 
you are a good fellow, all right.” 

Godfrey brought decanter and glasses and poured 
wine for each of them. 

“It’s the best that money can buy,” he bragged. “It’s 
pretty hard to get good stuff, since the Volstead law, 
but it can be had for a price. 

“Here’s to the queen of the ball! The daughter of 
the ‘Bishop of the Ozarks’!” Godfrey said playfully, 
raising his glass to his lips. His lady friend was 
already drinking hers and Margey was about to follow 
their example, when the words, “The Bishop of the 
Ozarks” seemed to rivet her attention. 

She hesitated, the glass half way to her lips; her 
hand began to tremble, then some invisible hand 


156 The Bishop oE the Ozarks 

seemed to snatch the glass from hers and it was shat¬ 
tered on the floor. 

“Save the precious fluid !” cried the “lady.” “What 
an awful catastrophe!” 

Recovering from her temporary fright, Margey 
said: 

“Fill another glass and I will not be so awkward 
this time.” 

When she was dressed for the ball, Godfrey and 
his friend pronounced her perfectly stunning in the 
costume. 

As the trio entered the waiting automobile, Margey 
saw her father, the “Shepherd Woman,” Garrett and 
Simon pass, returning home to seek her. 

None of them looked in her direction, except Gar¬ 
rett. He turned around in his seat and as long as he 
was in sight, his gaze was riveted on them. Margey 
shrank back from the old frontier man’s gaze, for a 
moment, forgetting she wore a mask. 

There was a big wrench at her heart and a hurting 
in her throat, when she thought of the four anxious, 
loving hearts that would soon be thrown into dire dis¬ 
tress when they did not find her at home. 

“This does not look like a fashionable part of the 
city!” Margey exclaimed, as they alighted from the 
automobile in front of a building on which an electric 
sign flashed the information: 

“Dance Hall: Masked Ball here tonight. Gents 
$2.00, ladies free.” 

“Oh, that’s all right,” assured Godfrey. “It’s the 
thing for swell society to come here for their fun. All 
the big bugs will be here.” 

Margey was so under control of her evil personal¬ 
ity that she did not hesitate to enter the dance hall 
with the other revelers. 


The Contending Forces 


157 


When the “Bishop” returned home and failed to 
find Margey, there was great anxiety. 

They had waited at the appointed place for half 
an hour and when she did not make her appearance, 
they hurried home, to find no word from her there. 

In much perplexity, they were discussing what was 
next to be done when Buck Garrett had an inspiration. 

“Do you know,—I must be gittin’ old, an’ don’t 
remember like I use to. I jist now thought, Miss Mar¬ 
gey told me to tell her dad, if she didn’t show up on 
time, for us to come to Dr. Burroughs’ studio, an’ I 
plum fergot it, ’til this minnit! 

“I’ll jist take th’ machine an’ go after her, an’ you 
kin all stay here. No use in anybody goin’ but me.” 

Without waiting for argument, he strode out of the 
room, followed my Simon. 

“Won’t you let me go long wid you, Massa Gar¬ 
rett?” pleaded the old man. “You mout need me.” 

“No, I won’t need you, Simon,” Garrett answered. 
“I think I’d better go alone.” 

“Den I’ll pray fer yo’ an’ dat deah chile,” the 
old negro said reverently. 

When Garrett reached Godfrey’s home, he got out, 
and rang the bell. In answer to his inquiry, the ser¬ 
vant told him, Dr. Godfrey had gone to a masked ball 
with two ladies. 

“I know one of them!” Garrett muttered between 
his clinched teeth as he strode to the waiting automo¬ 
bile. 

He questioned the first policeman he saw, and was 
told that there was to be a masked ball at a notorious 
dance hall that night. 

“I reckon they won’t want to let me in,” he said to 
himself. “But I put old Betsy, in my trunk, when I 
left the Ozarks, an’ I alus carry her, when I go to the 
city, at night.” 


158 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


Sure enough, the man on duty at the door in¬ 
formed Garrett lie could not be admitted unless he 
were masked. 

“Here’s the two dollars,” Garrett said. “That’s 
all you ask, with ladies free! I ain’t got no lady with 
me but there’s one on the inside waitin’ to come out.” 

“Go along, old man, and don’t start any trouble,” 
said the bouncer, “or I’ll have to throw you out!” 

“Say them words agin, partner! They sound good 
to me!” said Garrett. His harsh laugh should have 
been sufficient warning to the man, but he failed to 
grasp its significance. 

He shoved Garrett backward and drew back as if to 
strike, but the blow never descended. 

In a flash, he was looking down the muzzle of old 
“Betsy” while Garrett was saying in a steady voice: 

“I don’t want to hurt you, sonny. If you’ll be a 
good little boy an’ let me in,—if you don’t, old Betsy 
might bark, ef she ain’t forgot how!” For a moment 
the bouncer stood irresolute. 

“Don’t keep me waiting, sonny, the lady is ex¬ 
pectin’ me,” Garrett said in his most ingratiating tones. 

“Go in, damn you!” angrily exclaimed the door¬ 
keeper. 

“Thank you fer bein’ a nice little boy,” said Garrett 
with his most benign smile, as he passed into the dance 
hall. 

A jazz band was playing; the masqueraders danc¬ 
ing amidst a din of talking, laughing and the clinking 
of glasses. 

Around the sides of the hall were small rooms 
marked “Private,” with curtains drawn. Within these 
rooms could be heard sounds of revelry. 

Garrett stood back in the shadows as much as pos¬ 
sible, as he did not wish to attract attention. With 
keen eyes he watched each pair of dancers on the 



The: Contending Forces 


159 


floor until satisfied that the woman he sought was not 
among them. 

Then he made the rounds of the rooms marked 
“Private/’ stopping before each curtained door to 
listen to the voices within. 

At last his quest was rewarded, when he heard the 
voice he loved, and would have known above the 
babble of a thousand tongues. 

Thrusting aside the curtain, he strode boldly in. 

Godfrey and Margey had removed their masks. 
Between them, on the table, sat a whiskey decanter 
half empty, while each of them puffed a cigarette. 

When Margey saw Garrett, she uttered a startled 
cry and rose hastily from her seat. 

Jumping to his feet, Godfrey exclaimed angrily: 

“What in hell do you mean, intruding on our 
privacy ? Get out of here this instant or I’ll brain you 
with this whiskey bottle!’’ 

Suiting the action to his threat, he raised the heavy 
decanter, and was in the act of striking, when Garrett 
said: 

“Look at that, Doc, before you hit me, an’ tell me 
what you think it is.” 

Slowly, Godfrey’s hand relaxed and the decanter 
fell with a crash to the floor. 

“I don’t mean to shoot you,” Garrett said coldly, 
“but God knows you deserve it. I’ve seen the time 
you wouldn’t last ’til the kittle biles, but I’m tryin' to 
walk the straight an’ narrow now. 

“You set down an’ stay right in here, til I’ve bin 
gone a good half hour, an’ then we won’t have no 
trouble.” 

He took the dazed, unresisting Margey by the arm, 
and made his way through the throng, to the door. 

“Thank you, sonny, agin fer your kindness,” he 


160 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


said as he and Margey passed the crestfallen door¬ 
keeper. 

He placed Margey on the rear seat of the automo¬ 
bile. 

“Where are your clothes?” he asked gruffly. 

Margey told him and, without another word, he 
took the wheel and they were flying through the city. 

At Godfrey’s house, the negro servant protested 
against Garrett’s entering, but a few words from the 
stern old mountaineer were sufficient to set his teeth 
chattering. 

“Take off them things an’ put on your own decent 
close,” Garrett commanded. 

He waited in the reception room while Margey, 
still dumb with terror, hastened to comply with his 
demands. 

When they emerged from the house, Garrett said: 

“I want you to set in the front seat, so I kin talk 
to you afore we git home. 

“You needn’t tell me anything, becase you don’t 
owe me no explanation. Your dad an’ the others is 
all worried ’bout you. I told ’em a lie! I said you 
told me you wus goin’ to Dr. Burroughs’ studio, an’ 
that I forgot all about it until we got back to your 
house lookin’ fer you. Then I said I would come fer 
you, an’ I wouldn’t let nobody else come. 

“Simon begged me to let him come, but I didn’t 
want nobody to know but me. Now, I’m gwine to take 
you in the back way, an’ tell them you got a splittin’ 
headache, an’ wanted to come in an’ say good night, an’ 
I wouldn’t let you. An’ nobody’ll ever know ’bout 
tonight but me an’ you an' God, pervidin’ you make me 
one promise, an’ that is you won’t never see that 
damned scoundrel no more. 

“Lawd, forgive me for cussin’, but that one 
slipped!” He interjected. 


The: Contending Forces 


161 


“I held you in my arms many a time when you wus 
a little speck of a thing, with no mammy. When you 
got older, I used to set you on my shoulder an’ tote 
you miles an’ miles through th’ mountains. 

“Then when you got to be a big gal, I teached you 
how to ride, an’ when you got grown, the ‘Shepherd 
Woman’ bought Brown Hal fer you, an’ I wus so 
proud of you, fer you wus the best horsewoman in 
the Ozarks! 

“An’ you wus the purtiest an’ best of ’em all! I 
jest loved you, like you had bin my own gal, an’ I 
ain’t never seed the day, I wouldn’t lay down my life 
fer you!” 

The old man’s voice broke and a sob escaped his 
lips. He tried to go on but could not. 

“I—I can’t say no more!” he said as his emotions 
overcame him. 

The good spirit had returned to Margey. Impul¬ 
sively, she threw her arms about Garrett’s neck and 
wept on his shoulder. 

“I promise, my noble friend, I promise, by God’s 
help, never to see him again!” she said between her 
sobs. 

“Then it wus all a bad dream!’’ the old man said, 
cheerily. “Tomorrow, I’m goin’ back to the Ozarks 
fer a spell, an’ I’ll go knowin’ you'll live up to yore 
promise! 

“You’re a Gordon an’ Lee, both, an’ nobody with 
that blood in her veins, ever broke her word!” 


CHAPTER XIII 

Buck Garrett Writes a Letter 

Almost a month had passed since Buck Garrett 
returned to Happy Valley. It had been a month full 
of activity in Sunny Vale. 

The Convict Colony had grown to such propor¬ 
tions that the newspapers alleged that the penitentiary 
would soon be depopulated. While admitting the suc¬ 
cess of the plan, they said it took away the idea of 
punishment. 

The friends of the “Bishop" replied: 

“If it made criminals over into good and useful 
citizens, the ends of the law were fully met." 

It had been a hard month for Margey. Since the 
night Garrett rescued her at the Masked Ball, she had 
been the prey of contending emotions. 

Her two personalities were waging a terrible battle, 
and between the two, Margey was in a highly nervous 
state. Her brain ached; her body burned with fever, 
and alternately shivered with cold. 

At times she wept when alone in her room, and 
again she stood before the mirror, shaking her fist in 
anger, at her image in the glass. 

Godfrey had made repeated efforts to see her, and 
each time, when on the point of yielding, the words of 
Buck Garrett rang in her ears. 

“You’re a Gordon an’ Lee both, an’ nobody with 
that blood in her veins, ever broke her word!” 

She also remembered her promise to him, that by 
God’s help, she would not see Godfrey again. 

She often tried to analyze her feelings for this 
man. There were times when she almost loathed him. 
At such times her heart yearned for Dr. Burroughs, 
and she felt that he, alone, could fill her life. 


Buck Garrett Writes a Letter 


163 


At other times, she was drawn, irresistibly in the 
opposite direction. It was at such times, she felt the 
shackles of the life around her. Some one seemed to 
be saying: 

“How foolish you are, young and beautiful, with 
warm, red blood flowing in your veins, to give your 
life to a lot of uncouth criminals! 

“You are throwing away the things which youth 
and beauty are entitled to, and soon you will be old 
and no one will care for you. Life is enjoyment, 
pleasure; the gratification of your desires,—then why 
should you waste it on a lot of worthless people, just 
because a few sentimental dreamers like Percy Bur¬ 
roughs, your father and the ‘Shepherd Woman’ are 
doing so ?” 

Again a still small voice would whisper the story 
of service to humanity, and she would see the suffer¬ 
ing face of Christ on the cross, dying because He chose 
the narrow way of unselfishness, rather than the broad 
road, that leads to self gratification. 

Burroughs missed her in his work. Many of his 
poor patients lived from day to day on the hope of 
seeing her. His own heart longed for her. 

He sensed the battle she was fighting and he 
longed to help her but, well knowing the law that a soul 
must send out a call for help before any one can ren¬ 
der aid, he waited, hoping for the hour when Margey 
would stretch forth her hand, in the darkness, toward 
him. 

The “Bishop” was greatly distressed about Margey. 
He solicited her confidence, but for the first time in 
her life she shrank from confiding in him. 

The “Shepherd Woman” had no better success, 
when she endeavored to find out the cause of Mar- 
gey’s evident suffering and conflict. 


164 


The: Bishop of the Ozarks 


Simon, only, seemed to understand. One day, he 
found her sitting under a great oak tree, in her favor¬ 
ite nook, by the bubbling spring. He did not see 
her, until he was near enough to have touched her. He 
was turning away, without disturbing her, when she 
heard his footsteps. Seeing who it was, she called to 
him:— 

“Simon,” she said, “you possess a wisdom that 
comes from living close to God, and 1 want you to tell 
me what ails me. I feel sometimes that I must die! 
There is such a terrible conflict going on inside of 
me, and I don’t know what it is!” 

“Po’ chile! po’ chile,” the old man crooned, lay¬ 
ing his wrinkled hand reverently on her head. “I 
been knowin’ dis fight wus cornin’ fer de longes’ time. 

“I knowed when you wus little, you wus gwine to 
hab it some day, an’ I alius prayed to lib to help you 
maybe,—an’ when it’s all ovah I’se ready to go ovah 
yondah! 

“You has two sperits; I’se seed ’em lots ob times. 
One ob ’em is as good as de mothah ob Christ, an’ de 
tother is evil. I seed ’em fitin’ lots ob times, but I 
ain’t nevah tole you. I wus afeared you wouldn’t 
understan’. 

“Dey done cum two men into youah life, an’ one 
ob dese spirits lub one man an’ de oder sperit lubs de 
tuther man, an’ dey’s fitin’ fer dey lovers. 

“You won’t min’ my sayin’ all dis to you, will you, 
honey?” the old man asked gently. 

“You knowse I promised youah mothah I would 
stan’ by you as long as I lib, an’ I can’t do it now, less 
I tells de trufe! 

“One ob dese sperits gwine to kill de tuther one 
plum dead! An’ den dey won’t be no moah fightin’. 


Buck Garrett Writes a Letter 165 

‘Tse prayin’ ebery time I gets my breath, fer de 
good sperit to win, an’ I know it’s gwine to!” 

Before Simon could say more, the Bishop came up, 
holding a letter in his hand. 

“I have a letter from Buck Garrett,” he said, “and 
thought you might like to hear it read. His writing 
is poor and his spelling, worse, but I have managed to 
decipher it, so will read it to you. 

“Simon, you may remain and hear it, if you wish 

to.” 

“I’d like to pow’ful well,” said Simon. 

“Bishop of Ozarks, 

“Dear Frend: 

“It seems like a yeer sense I left you all in Sunny 
Vale, an’ I thought I would put in the day ritin’ you, 
fer I know it will take all day fer me to tell you all I 
want to say. 

“I come home by Kansas City an’ staid thru Sun¬ 
day and Sunday nite—Sunday mornin’ I santered 
’round town, thinkin’ I would heer sum of ’em fash¬ 
ionable preachers I heerd so much about, so I went to 
one place where there wus a big church house. Gee, 
but it wus fine inside—an’ there wus a big organ an’ a 
choir up in the loft. 

“They wa’n’t mor’n half the benches filled, an’ 
everybody seemed to have the eppyzootic,—such 
sniffin’, sneezin’ an’ coughin’ I never heerd in my born 
days. 

“The preacher wus hoarse and sed he had a sore 
throte, but would do his best—an’ I reckon he did— 
but he didn’t preach like you, an’ of corse no other sort 
of preachin’ suits me. 

“He wus givin’ Christian Science and Speritism 
down the country. He sed they wus works of the 
devil. I staid until they started to take up a collection 



166 The Bishop oe the Ozarks 

an’ then I beat it becase I hadn’t heerd nothin' to pay 
fer. 

“Then I went across the street an’ I seed a church 
with a big sine on it. I read it an’ it sed, ‘Christian 
Science.’ Then I sed to myself, Tm gwine in an’ see 
how the devil looks.’ 

“Well, do you know the benches wus all full and 
they wus the best dressed folks I ever seen—an’ they 
all looked well an’ happy an’ not one of ’em had the 
eppyzootic. 

“I didn’t heer nary one of ’em cough or sneeze 
while I wus there; I sed ef this is the work of the devil 
he is a purty good blacksmith. 

“An’ then one feller got up an’ read what Jesus sed; 
an’every time he red a verse, another feller red from 
a book he sed wus a key to the Bible by Mary Baker 
G. Eddy egsplainin’ what Christ ment. 

“Every little while a feller would come over about 
Mary Baker G. Eddy an’ her key to the Bible, an’ no¬ 
body sed anythin’ about Jesus. 

“I have heerd you say so meny times that Jesus 
made it so plain a wayfaren man, even ef he wus a 
fool, could find the road an’ I know I done found the 
way an’ there never wus a bigger fool nor me nor a 
meaner cuss either. 

“Well I got burnt out on that Mary Baker G. Eddy 
business an’ went back to the hotel. Along about nite 
a feller settin’ in the lobby told me of a place where 
they talk to sperits of them on tother side and axed me 
ef I wanted to go. I sed, T shore do fer I’d give ten 
years of my life to heer my mother’s voice.’ You know 
she died when I wus a little feller an’ I w r us jest jerked 
up—I wa’n’t ever raised. 

“Well, sir, you know there wus a woman got up 
on the platform an’ cut up a lot of didoes. I thought 


Buck Garrett Writes a Letter 167 

she wus throwin’ a fit at fust—but presently she earned 
down an’ begin to talk. I wus lisenin’ with all my 
veers when she sed: ‘Is Buck Garrett here?’ 

“Fer a minit I wus skeered in an inch of my life. 
It was Mizzori, you know where I done most of my 
divilment, an’ for a minute I forgot that you got me a 
pardin twenty years ago. 

“She repeats: ‘Is Buck Garrett here?’ Then I 
stood up an’ seys, ‘He shore is.’ 

“Then I see all the folks lookin’ at me—kinder 
snickerin’ becase I didn’t have on the kind of close they 
wore. 

“Then the woman says: 

“ ‘The sperit of yore mother is here an’ wants to 
talk to you.’ My heart wus thumpin’ like a hammer— 
I wus never so excited in my life. I sed, ‘What does 
she want to say to me?’ 

“Then the woman says: ‘Yore mother died when 
you wus only five years old, an’ she says she bin with 
you all the time watchin’ to help you—even when you 
wus a bad man. She seys it made her so happy when 
the “Bishop of the Ozarks” come to Devil’s Den an’ 
you found Christ an’ quit yer meanness.’ An’ she tole 
me so much my mother sed, ‘Bishop,’ that I didn’t know 
myself til she tole me, an’ so meny things I thought 
nobody but me an’ God knowed, that I jest set there an’ 
cried like a big kid. 

“An’ lots of ’em fine dressed folks cried, too! 

“I sed right out in meetin’, ‘Thank God fer sendin’ 
my mother to me, becase I know now that I ain’t ever 
goin’ to die, that nobody’s goin’ to die—an it’s wurth all 
the gold in the wurld fer a feller to know it.’ 

“Then she sed somethin’ I been worried about, 
and meby I oughtent to tell you, but it pesters me so 
I’se gwine to tell it. She sed, ‘Margey is in danger an’ 


168 


The Bishop op the Ozarks 


I want you to git back to Birmingham as soon as possi¬ 
ble because she needs you.’ 

“I wus so happy an' so worried I didn't sleep a wink 
that night—happy becase I KNOW now my mammy 
lives, an’ worried about Margey. 

“Well, next mornin’ I tuk the train fer Happy Val¬ 
ley an’ it never looked so good to me before, only you, 
Margey, the ‘Shepherd Woman’ an’ Simon wa’n’t 
there. 

“If you all wus back here, I wouldn’t ever leave 
agin, an’ I wouldn’t haf to die to go to hevin either, 
it would be hevin right here. 

“Everybody wus shore glad to see me, an’ every¬ 
body axed about you all. I ain’t got through answerin’ 
all their questions yit. 

“But I run into a reglar distracted meetin’ when I 
got to Happy Valley. A lot of our folks wus plum 
skeered to death. 

“A feller callin’ hisself Hell Roarin’ Billv wus 
holdin’ a big revival, as he called it. 

“He sed he wus a reglar hell an’ damnation preach¬ 
er, an’ I reckon he discribed hisself proper. 

“His wife wus with him an’ she talked to the 
women’s meetin’s. 

“He had a regular circus—a bunch of singers an’ 
sum horns an’ fiddles, an’ a regular saw-dust trail down 
the center aisle to the mourners’ bench. 

“He sed he had cum to drive the devil out of Happy 
Valley an’ from the fuss he made he orter been able 
to do so ef he wus there,—an’ I don’t think he wus 
onless Hell Roarin’ Billy brought him along. 

“Well, about the furst crack he made wus to give 
you old ‘Billy hell,’ as the sayin’ is. He sed you wus 
a false teacher an’ a chile of Satan, becase you sed 
they wa’n’t no use in folks gittin’ sick an’ takin’ medi- 
cin. 


Buck Garrett Writes a Letter 


169 


“He sed hell wa’n’t two miles away from Happy 
Valley, an’ the furst thing to do wus to send fer a 
good doctor an’ git a drug store. Then he sed the 
idear of runnin’ a community without a officer or 
courts wus contrary to the will of God, an’ we must 
hev a policeman an’ judge. 

“Then he got het up an’ went fer you a little hot¬ 
ter. He sed you’d bin preachin’ a lot of bunk about 
evylution, the age of the airth, an’ I don’t know what 
all. 

“He said the airth wus only five thousand yeers 
old, an’ God made the furst man jest five thousand 
yeers ago outen a ball of mud, an’ then tuck a rib outen 
his side while he wus asleep an’ made him a wife an’ 
put ’em in a garden an' told ’em they could eat the crab 
apples and culls, but they dasn’t tech the good, ripe 
fruit. 

“Of course this made ’em want it lots worser than 
they would ef He had told ’em to eat all they wanted, 
so they et the big red apples, an’ God got so mad at ’em 
He driv ’em out of the garden with no close on ’ceptin’ 
fig leaves. 

“Then he sed God staid mad fer several yeers, an’ 
he wus a funny kind of God when He got mad, fer He 
sed that nothin’ but the smell of blood and burnin’ ani¬ 
mals would make Him sorry fer His children, so’s he’d 
forgive ’em. 

“He kep this up fer a long, long time, an’ then he 
decided it would be better to let the people eat their 
cattle, sheep an’ goats, an’ so He made His Son come 
to airth and shed His blood so’s His Father would 
fergive His children, becase Adam an’ Eve et an apple 
siveral thousand yeers ago. 

“He sed he had heerd that you sed this airth wus 
millions of yeers old, an’ that men had lived on it fer 
hundreds of thousands of years. 


170 The: Bishop op the Ozarks 

“An’ further, you sed there wus lots of suns, a 
million times bigger than our sun, an’ worlds that 
would make our airth look like one pea in a pod. An’ 
that man wus immortal, that he wus a sperit an’ had 
alus lived an’ would alus live, an’ that sperits could 
talk back to us frum the other side, an’ that the only 
devil wus a man hisself, an’ the only punishment he 
would ever git here or hereafter wus what he brought 
on hisself. 

“My, he did get mad when he sed all this. He 
popped his fist, an’ hopped about on the platform like 
a hen on a hot griddle. Then he sed, ‘Let me read you 
what sum of the big fathers in the church say about 
hell.’ 

“He tuk out a book and red frum it: 

“ ‘This,’ he sed, ‘is what Reverend Charles Spur¬ 
geon, an eminent Divine sed: “When thou diest, thy 
soul will be tormented alone, that will be hell for it, 
but at the day of judgment thy body will join the 
soul and then thou wilt have twin hells, thy soul sweat¬ 
ing drops of blood, and thy body sufifused with agony, 
in fire exactly like that which we have on earth, thy 
body will lie, asbestos-like, forever unconsumed, all 
thy veins, roads for the feet of pain to travel on, every 
nerve, a string, on which the devil shall play forever 
his diabolical tune of hell’s unutterable lament!” ’ 

“I thought that wus a purty hot one, but the next 
one wus red hot. 

“ ‘This extract,’ he sed, ‘is taken from the works 
of Samuel Hopkins, D.D.:’ 

“ ‘The smoke of their torment shall ascend up in 
the sight of the blessed forever, and serve as a most 
clear glass always before their eyes, to give them a 
constant bright and most affecting view. This display 
of the Divine character and glory will be in favor of 


Buck Garrett Writes a Letter 


171 


the redeemed, and most entertaining, and give the high¬ 
est pleasure to those who love God, and raise their 
happiness to ineffable heights. 

“ ‘Should this eternal punishment and this fire be 
extinguished, it would, in a measure, obscure the light 
of heaven and put an end to a great part of the happi¬ 
ness and glory of the blessed!’ 

“ ‘I say amen to them sentiments,’ he shouted, ‘an’ 
ef you Happy Valley folks all go to hell, I’ll shout 
“Glory Hallelula!” when I see you smokin’ and siz¬ 
zlin’ !’ 

“By this time the timid ones in the congregation 
wus gittin’ ready to hide frum the devil. They looked 
fer him to come in with a big pot of burnin’ brimstone 
an’ a pitchfork. 

“Then he sed: T want ever last one of you to hit 
the sawdust trail, an’ come to the mourners’ bench. 
Jest git down an’ say, “I believe in the blood of Jesus 
to wash away my sins!” an’ there’s nothin’ to it, you 
are on the shinin’ road to glory an’ nothin’ can stop 
you. 

“ ‘An’ you’d better come tonight, fer ef you die a- 
fore mornin’ you’ll shore be in hell,—that is yore soul 
will until yore body comes an’ then you’ll both be in 
hell forever and forever!’ 

“They wa’n’t nobody hit the sawdust trail, an’ he 
got madder an’ madder’n a wet hornet. Then he told 
about a frend of his’n, an old baseball player, that 
died an’ went to hell. He sed, ‘He sent fer me when 
he wus on his death bed, after the doctor had given him 
up. He axed me to pray fer him, an’ I got down on 
my knees, but it wus too late.’ 

“An then Hell Roarin’ Billy throwed hisself down 
on his stummick, an’ slid across the platform, like he 
wus playin’ baseball, an’ stretched out his hand like 


172 


The: Bishop op tpie Ozarks 


he wus tryin’ to tech the base. He lay there an’ sed, in 
an awful whisper, that made the cold chills run up 
and down yore back, Tt wus too late! He slid fer the 
home-plate,—but fell into hell! 

“It wus somethin’ awful,—womin begin to screem, 
an’ babies to yell, an’ the dogs to howl! 

“I couldn’t hold in no longer, an’ bust right out 
laughin’. This riled him wuser’n ever, an’ he sed: 
‘You’ll be damned, you old hellcat!’ 

“ ‘Thank you, parson,’ I sed. An’ then I laughed 
till I almost split my sides. 

“Presently some men begin to laugh—an’ then they 
all laughed. Then the womin started sorter cryin’ and 
laughin’ all to once an’ the babies quit cryin’ an’ begin 
to coo. 

“Then I think it must a bin a fox that passed 
close to the church, fer all the dogs lit out on a hot 
trail, an’ it wus sech music as no old fox hunter kin 
resist; so the men in the back end of the house begin 
to slip out, an’ purty soon the whole congregation wus 
movin.’ 

“Oh, but Hell Roarin’ Billy wus mad! 

“ ‘You are dismissed, an’ can all go to hell!’ he sed. 

“I sed: ‘The dogs are after the devil an’ meby 
they’ll chase him back to hell, fer we ain’t got no need 
of him in Happy Valley.’ 

“Well, that’s all. Scuse bad writin’ an’ spellin’. 

“Buck Garrett.” 

“P. S. Keep a eye on that Doc. Godfrey. I’ll be 
there to help you soon.” 


CHAPTER XIV 
Fate Weaves Her Web 

Earl Godfrey had come into full possession of his 
inheritance, but he was unhappy. Never in all his 
life had there been such an unsatisfied longing in his 
heart. 

He was the possessor of a beautiful home; high- 
priced automobiles; tailor-made clothes and had ser¬ 
vants to do his bidding. 

He had leisure, abundant leisure to indulge his 
tastes and money to gratify every caprice. 

His name was conspicuous in the daily papers, and 
he was always referred to as a wealthy “man about 
town.” He had become a member of a fashionable 
men’s club and was a well-known figure in the Smart 
Set. Surely he had attained the desire of his heart 
when he bartered his soul for gold. 

He fancied that Margey Chapman had given her 
love to Burroughs, his former partner, and the thought 
was wormwood and gall to him. All his affection for 
his boyhood chum and friend had turned to bitter hate. 

He sometimes passed him on the street and in 
answer to Burroughs’ kindly greeting, gave him an 
angry scowl. 

He now desired Margey above everything else. His 
money was a mockery without her, and the very fact 
that she had closed the door to him and refused to see 
him, intensified his desire to possess her. 

How was he to do it? This thought burned in his 
brain through the sleepless hours of the night, when 
he tossed feverishly in his bed. 

In the morning he would arise, trembling in every 
limb; his eyes burning; his head aching. Some unac¬ 
countable disease seemed sapping his vitality. From 


174 The Bishop op the Ozarks 

the time when he had gazed in the crystal given him 
by Peter Bardwell, and had chosen gold as the price 
of his soul, he had not been a well man. As the days 
went by, this mysterious ailment grew, until he was 
really alarmed. 

He had consulted one of the city’s most eminent 
specialists, who could find no physical trouble, so sug¬ 
gested rest and change of environment. To Godfrey 
this seemed like irony, for he was resting all the while, 
so he concluded that if he had Margey Chapman to 
enjoy his great wealth with him, that he would be well 
and happy. 

So he came back to the starting point. How could 
he win her? He fell to thinking about the mysterious 
stone, given him by the keeper of the curio shop. Did 
it, indeed, hold the magic power ascribed to it by 
Bardwell ? 

The inheritance of the money from his uncle was 
in no way connected with his wish for money, he rea¬ 
soned; and the receipt of the telegram written a few 
hours after the weird experience, he still remembered 
with a shudder, was a mere coincidence. If it did hold 
the magic power ascribed to it, then he could compel 
Margey to love him and to become his wife. 

He had grown skeptical about the stone and now 
ascribed the vision he had beheld in the stone, hearing 
the voice and all that followed, to other causes, 
perhaps an overwrought imagination, or a temporary 
lesion of the brain. 

At any rate, he reasoned, it would do no harm to 
make the experiment. No one need ever know that he 
had been superstitious enough, to even think of such a 
thing. 

One night when he had sat for a long time musing 
over the proposition, he went to a cabinet where he 


Fate; Weaves FIe:r Web 


175 


had securely locked the stone and took it from its hid- 
ing place. Carefully he removed the stone from its 
covering and held it in his hand. As he did so instant¬ 
ly he felt an icy blast sweep through the room, so that 
he shivered with cold. 

There was a roaring like the sound of a cataract! 
As he held the crystal before his eyes, strange lights, 
of many colors began to dance and leap, licking their 
forked tongues as if about to consume him. 

A great fear seized him. His heart palpitated vio¬ 
lently, his breath came in gasps and he felt a monster 
hand at his throat choking him. 

With a cry of fear, he wrapped the stone in its 
leather covering, staggered to the cabinet, thrust it 
in the drawer and locked it, then reeled across the 
room and fell into a chair. Great drops of perspira¬ 
tion streamed from his face. 

“I dare not! I dare not!” he cried, raising his 
hands as if to ward off some terrible vision. 

H? ^ 

Destiny, that grim old weaver, was filling in the 
woof of life’s web for others besides Godfrey. Each 
thrust of the shuttle brought them all nearer to a crisis 
in their lives, visible to none of them. 

Doctor Burroughs’ days were busy ones, his min¬ 
istrations to others making an ever increasing demand 
upon his time and strength. His heart went out to 
Margey and he longed for the time when the barrier, 
whatever it might be, would be burned away and there 
should be naught between them but a holy love. 

Whenever he had the opportunity he went to his 
studio to work on his painting. Already it was grow¬ 
ing into what promised to be a masterpiece. 

The “Bishop of the Ozarks” sometimes came to the 
studio, and Dr. Burroughs told him the secret of his 
work as an artist. 


176 


The: Bishop op the Ozarics 


“I am not doing it,” he said, “I am but the instru¬ 
ment, a sort of automaton. A great artist in the Spirit 
world has directed me to paint Christ on the cross. I 
simply execute his designs. He mixes the colors and 
directs everything. I have asked him his name, but he 
refuses to give it to me. ‘It is your picture/ he says, 
‘I claim no credit for it. When I was on earth, a 
master-painter on this side did for me what I am doing 
for you, so that my name became famous all over the 
world.’ ” 

Burroughs would not show the painting to the 
“Bishop.” “My guide tells me to allow no one to see it 
until it is completed,” he explained to the “Bishop.” 

In the life of the “Bishop of the Ozarks,” there 
were threads of destiny, weaving strange patterns. 
One was the insistent demand that he be consecrated a 
bishop and accept the pastorate of the beautiful St. 
Paul’s church in Birmingham. Strong pressure had 
been brought to bear on him by the various dioceses. 

This appeal had been supplemented by the entire 
membership of the church. Even the governor of the 
state had used all of his eloquence in an effort to in¬ 
duce the “Bishop” to accede to the universal demand. 

“I do not see how you can refuse,” urged the gov¬ 
ernor. “You are a bishop now to all intents and pur¬ 
poses. You were chosen and examined and merely 
an unfortunate circumstance prevented your investi¬ 
ture with the title of bishop. You have been called 
‘Bishop’ for more than twenty years, and it is meet 
and proper that the hands of ordination be laid on 
you.” 

Again the ghost of Banquo reared its head in the 
“Bishop’s” life. If he could have foreseen this con¬ 
tingency, he would never have left the Ozarks. 

It was his great love for humanity that had prompt- 


Fate Weaves Her Web 


177 


ed him to come to Alabama after an absence of twenty 
years. He knew that beneath the convict’s stripes 
there beat the hearts of men who could be cured of 
their criminal tendencies, and it was his great love for 
these outcasts of society, that drew him back like a 
magnet. 

Confronted by this new peril, he shuddered when 
he contemplated the full significance of his situation. 
In assuming the name of Chapman, he had never in¬ 
tended to deceive or wrong any one. 

In assuming the role of a minister, he had not 
intended to use it as a cloak for unworthy deeds. It 
had come about in such a way, that it seemed as if it 
were destiny. 

When he had knelt before the figure of the Christ 
on the cross in the ‘‘Shepherd Woman’s” house, he 
had dedicated his life to the service of humanity. 

That he should become a minister of Christ had 
seemed the most natural thing in the world. 

For Margey’s sake it had seemed to him that the 
deception was entirely justifiable, for now she had a 
father, and would be spared the deep sorrow a knowl¬ 
edge of the truth would bring her. 

Old Simon, dear, saintly old Simon, felt the same 
way about it for had he not first suggested the decep¬ 
tion and kept it up all these years, not once by word 
or sign betraying the secret? 

Of course the “Shepherd Woman” knew, but she 
had also counseled the course he had pursued, assuring 
him that it was the right and proper thing for him to 
do. 

In his new extremity, he went to the “Shepherd 
Woman.” “How bitterly I now realize the truth of the 
lines of the poet, when he said: ‘What a tangled web 
we weave, when first we practice to deceive.’ I am 


178 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


now entangled in that web of deception, and I see no 
way out of it, but to make a full and frank confession; 
surrender to the authorities; return to the penitentiary 
and serve out my time.” 

After hours of protest, reasoning and pleading, the 
“Shepherd Woman” convinced him that it was his duty 
to go on living the life of Roger Chapman, the dead 
preacher, and be consecrated a bishop. 

So, in the due course of time, a great consecration 
service was held in which seven bishops took part. 

Chapman’s work among the convicts and his ser¬ 
mons to them, had made him one of the most noted 
men in Alabama. His personality had become the 
most commanding in the moral and religious life of the 
community. 

Wherever he went he was an imposing figure, loved 
and honored by every one, for he radiated joy and sun¬ 
shine. He was a welcome guest in the business offices 
as well as in the homes of the foremost citizens. 

So universally loved was Chapman, that people 
came from all parts of the state to do him honor on the 
occasion of his consecration. 

It was an impressive ceremony, and the service 
most inspiring! No one except the “Shepherd Wo¬ 
man’' and Simon knew the great stress under which 
the “Bishop” labored. 

Simon had been accorded a seat in the rear of the 
church because of his nobility of character, and for 
his long and faithful devotion to his master. 

The “Shepherd Woman” sat beside Margey, on 
whose face shone an angelic beauty and sweetness, and 
also reflected a pardonable pride in her distinguished 
father. 

The “Shepherd Woman” never took her eyes from 
the “Bishop’s" face during the ceremonies. More than 


Fate Weaves Her Web 


179 


once she caught his pleading glance and saw his lips 
move as if in prayer for courage. 

In the audience were the former chums and part¬ 
ners, Earl Godfrey and Percy Burroughs. Both had 
changed greatly since the dissolution of their partner¬ 
ship. 

Burroughs’ face had become more spiritual, more 
kindly, with a radiance that caused people to pause and 
look at it again. 

Godfrey, on the other hand, had changed for the 
worse. His features had coarsened; his eyes had lost 
their clearness of vision; his hand was unsteady and 
his voice, cold and metallic. 

When the services were over, the congregation 
thronged about the newly made bishop, to clasp his 
hand. Among them were Godfrey and Burroughs. 

Margey was startled when each greeted her. She 
felt the same sway of contending emotions she had 
undergone when she first met them months before, at 
the close of a service at the brush-arbor in Sunny Vale. 

Seeing the same flush on her cheeks, that he had 
noticed the first time he had held her hand, Godfrey 
boldly asked if he could drive her home. 

Taken by surprise and swayed by the old wicked 
feeling of the past, she turned to the “Bishop” and 
said: “If you will excuse me, I will let Dr. Godfrey 
drive me home.” 

A look of triumph lighted Godfrey’s face and Bur¬ 
roughs turned away with a sigh. 

As Margey and Godfrey passed out of the church, 
old Simon muttered under his breath: “Her two 
sperits is fightin’ agin! An his sperit has shrunk up 
ontil it ain’t mor’n waist-high. When it shrinks clean 
up an’ blows away,—then her good sperit gwine to put 
tudder one in the grabe.” 


180 The: Bishop op the Ozarks 

Godfrey took a circuitous route to the “Bishop’s” 
home, which carried them through a portion of the 
city inhabited by the foreign population. Many chil¬ 
dren were playing in the streets and their presence 
greatly vexed Godfrey. 

“The brats ought to be kept off the streets!” he 
said with irritation. “It doesn’t matter much if they 
are run over.” 

One curly-headed little fellow, about five years old, 
was not quite as lively as his companions in getting out 
of the way. He became separated from the others 
and, probably confused, so started to turn back to the 
pavement. 

Godfrey, who had not slackened his speed, saw the 
child’s peril too late to stop, so instead of trying to he 
speeded up, ran over the child and was fleeing from the 
scene of the accident with all the speed possible, when 
Margey shouted in his ear, “Stop! for God’s sake, 
stop!” He was deaf to her entreaties and continued 
at breakneck pace. She leaned over, grasped the 
steering wheel and using all her strength, she turned 
the car against the curb. 

When the child was struck down in the street, a 
great hue and cry was raised and a number of men 
pursued the fleeing automobile. 

When Margey ran the car into the curb, both she 
and Godfrey were thrown violently against the wind¬ 
shield, and by the time they had recovered from the 
shock, the men were in close pursuit. 

Godfrey looked back and saw how near they were 
and with an angry curse, leaped from the car and ran 
in the opposite direction. 

In his weakened condition, he was not the equal in 
a sprinting match to the angry men chasing him. He 
saw that they would soon overtake him, and felt that 


Fate: We:ave:s Her Web 181 

they would lynch him or do him some great bodily 
harm. 

That morning, before starting to the church, he had 
taken the crystal from its hiding place, just why, he 
could not have said. In his dire extremity, he remem¬ 
bered it. Hastily he took it from his pocket and with¬ 
out removing its covering, he summoned all his will 
power. “May they be stricken with blindness!“ he 
cried. Instantly the pursuit stopped! The men threw 
up their hands as if groping in darkness. They called 
to each other, “I am blind ! I am blind !” 

They were panic-stricken and began to call for help. 

Godfrey’s curse, pronounced on his pursuers, was 
swift and terrible in its fulfillment, but he was also a 
victim of his own evil power. 

As once before, he heard a terrible crash like thun¬ 
der, the street seemed a sheet of flame, and—then he 
fell down like a dead man ! 

How long he lay thus, he never knew. When he 
recovered consciousness, he was in his own luxurious 
home, surrounded by his startled servants and being 
attended by a physician. 

When Godfrey leaped from the automobile, Mar- 
gey took the driver’s seat and returned to where the 
child still lay, surrounded by a crowd of half-crazed 
and hysterical women. The child’s mother held his 
head in her lap, as she sat on the ground, moaning: 
“He is dead ! He is dead !’’ 

Margey sprang from the automobile and examined 
his pulse, then took him in her arms as she said to the 
child’s mother: “He is not dead ! Get in the machine 
and I will take him to the best physician in the city. 
He will save your child’s life.” 

The half-blinded men, now beginning to recover 
their sight, came groping their way back from the in- 


182 The Bishop oe the Ozarks 

terrupted chase. Margey explained to them her pur¬ 
pose and they offered no objections. 

She drove as rapidly as she dared with the injured 
child and his mother, to the sanatorium, where Dr. 
Burroughs performed his operations. 

She was fortunate in finding him there, he having 
arrived only a few moments before. 

She hastily explained what had happened and he 
took the little fellow gently in his arms and went into 
the operating room, followed by Margey and the 
mother. 

When Dr. Burroughs had made ready for the 
examination, he felt the presence of the great phy¬ 
sician of the spirit world, who guided him. 

When the spirit doctor came, it always meant that 
it was a most critical case, but it also meant an instan¬ 
taneous and correct diagnosis. 

“A very dangerous fracture of the skull!” Bur¬ 
roughs said to Margey, “and I must operate at once!” 

Under the guidance of the spirit doctor, the opera¬ 
tion was performed in record time and the little patient 
was removed to a cot, in a near-by room. 

Margey had insisted on remaining during the opera¬ 
tion and now refused to go home. She telephoned the 
“Bishop,” explaining the accident, and said she was 
going to remain with the child until the crisis had 
passed. 

The poor mother was put to bed after being assured 
that her boy would be all right soon and that she 
would surely be called the moment he regained con¬ 
sciousness. 

Then she and Dr. Burroughs took up their long 
vigil. All throughout the night they sat beside the 
little cot with its stricken occupant, rarely speaking, 
and then not above a whisper. 

While few words were spoken, both felt that com- 


Fate: Weaves Her Web 


183 


munion of spirit, far more vital than any words the lips 
could express. 

Frequently Dr. Burroughs would listen to see if 
the little heart was beating. 

As the day dawned, the doctor whispered to Mar- 
gey that the crisis was near. Eagerly they watched, 
never relaxing their attention for even a second. 

A clock could be heard ticking away the seconds; 
the rumble of the traffic in the streets told the watch¬ 
ers that the city was awake and astir for the new day. 

Finally, the little fellow’s eyelids flickered—he 
stirred uneasily as if about to awaken from sleep. 

Dr. Burroughs signaled Margey to open the win¬ 
dow blinds and, as she did so, a ray of sunlight fell 
across the child’s face. He opened his eyes; gazed 
at the doctor an instant and then closed them again 
in sleep. 

“He will live, thank God!” Burroughs said fer¬ 
vently. 

Margey began to sob. Until this supreme moment, 
she had held back her tears. Now the flood-gates 
were open. “Thank God!” she cried. “Thank God 
and you , noble physician!” 

Burroughs took her gently by the hand. “Don’t 
cry,” he said, trying to soothe her. “It is now time to 
rejoice.” 

“I am crying for joy,” she answered; “I want to 
cry and laugh at the same time, and I don’t know 
which I had rather do!” 

After a moment she brushed away the tears; stood 
up beside Burroughs and placed both hands on his 
shoulders. Looking at him, half sadly, half coquettish- 
ly, she said: “You asked me a wonderful question, 
once-upon-a-time, in your studio. If you’ll ask it 
again, I’ll say, ‘yes.’ ” 


184 


The: Bishop op the Ozarks 


Dr. Burroughs did not ask the question again, but 
took the unresisting girl in his arms and their lips met 
in a kiss that mean to both—“for weal or for woe.” 

They had forgotten the tiny boy on the cot. He 
was wide-awake and had not forgotten to be a boy. “I 
caught you all kissin’,” he said, a mischievous smile 
lurking about the corners of his mouth. 


CHAPTER XV 
Greater Things Than These 

The Birmingham daily papers contained two inter- 
esting and unusual news items in parallel columns. 

One item was to the effect that Bishop Roger Chap¬ 
man had invited all diseased persons to attend ser¬ 
vices at his church the following Sunday morning. 
The invitation was extended to the lame, the halt and 
the blind; in fact, to all who felt the need of a physi¬ 
cian. 

The article further stated that the “Bishop” had an¬ 
nounced that the greatest healer in the world would 
be present and would prescribe for each afflicted per¬ 
son without money and without price. 

The imaginative reporter described the great physi¬ 
cian and told of his power to heal instantaneously. 

The other news item was a startling story about 
Dr. Earl Godfrey, a rising young physician, who had 
retired from practice to enjoy his great wealth. It 
related a strange incident that occurred a few Sundays 
previously when Godfrey, accompanied by Margey, 
the beautiful daughter of Bishop Chapman, was so 
unfortunate as to run over a child that was playing 
in the street. 

The story of how a mob of angry men followed the 
car and of Godfrey’s jumping from the car and run¬ 
ning was told in vivid language. 

The item then continued: “While being closely 
pursued by the mob, Godfrey turned and faced his 
pursuers, shaking his fist angrily. Just what hap¬ 
pened at that moment is the most startling part of 
the story. People looking from their windows say 
they heard an angry rumbling, like the sound of dis- 


186 The: Bishop op the Ozarks 

tant thunder and that they saw what had the appear¬ 
ance of a sheet of flame, filling the street. 

“They saw the men in pursuit, stop suddenly, rub 
their eyes in bewilderment and then heard them cry 
out: T can not see!’ 

“At the same moment, Godfrey fell prone upon the 
earth, where he lay like a dead man, until persons in 
a passing automobile picked him up. 

“In a short time after he had been removed, the 
men, stricken with blindness, began to recover their 
sight. 

“Many theories have been advanced to explain the 
strange phenomena, but none of them seem to be sat¬ 
isfactory. 

“As an aftermath of the weird happening, it has 
been announced by Dr. Godfrey’s physician that he 
must have complete rest and isolation for some time. 
He is being cared for in his sumptuous home by com¬ 
petent nurses and his servants, but no others, not even 
his most intimate friends are allowed to see him. 

“It is understood that he receives no mail and is 
not allowed to see a newspaper, nor is he told any 
news of the outside world. The telephone has been 
removed from his residence and it seems that he is as 
completely isolated as if he were in the far jungles of 
Africa. 

“His physician further states that when his patient 
sufficiently recovers, he will take a long ocean voyage 
and then remain abroad for several months. 

“No statement was obtainable from the doctor as 
to the nature of the disease, but it is understood the 
malady from which Dr. Godfrey is suffering has 
baffled the skill of his attending physician, who is 
one of the most eminent in the south. 

“Rumor has it that there is no organic trouble; no 


GrEatkr Things Than These; 187 

visible, tangible evidence of any ailment. And yet, 
according to this rumor, there are times when the 
wealthy young man seems to be in extremis. 

“His many friends hope for his speedy recovery. 
He is greatly missed at his club and by the ‘Smart 
Set’ generally.” 

* * * sjs 

Bishop Chapman had taken up his residence on 
fashionable Highland avenue. Simon was in all his 
glory as head janitor of the church. This office per¬ 
mitted him to attend the services and he could hear his 
beloved bishop preach. 

Margey Chapman always sang a solo at the morn¬ 
ing service, and her voice was so unusual that it soon 
became an important feature of the programme. 

The banns, announcing the marriage of the “Bish¬ 
op’s” daughter, Margey, to Dr. Percy Burroughs, had 
been published, so when she arose to sing on the morn¬ 
ing of the service, held especially for those suffering 
from disease, she attracted more than usual attention 
and interest. 

It was a rare morning early in June, when nature 
is on her best behavior in the mountain region of 
Northern Alabama. The air was laden with the fra¬ 
grance of woods, field and flower garden, and a holy 
calm seemed to hold the city in peaceful repose. 

People began to arrive at the church long before 
the accustomed hour for the service to begin. Many 
were on crutches, some in wheel-chairs pushed by 
attendants or relatives. The blind and halt, led by 
loving hands, were seated in the front pews. 

As the afflicted continued to arrive, the pews oc¬ 
cupied by those who were well were vacated to make 
room for the eager, anxious throng of afflicted human¬ 
ity, pressing forward to take them. Several persons, 


188 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


unable to walk, were brought in on cots and placed 
near the pulpit. 

Half a dozen bishops occupied seats on the rostrum 
and many ministers were in the congregation. 

Simon occupied his accustomed seat, in a secluded 
corner, in the rear of the auditorium. By his side sat 
an old colored “mammy” her snow-white hair, show¬ 
ing beneath a red bandanna handkerchief, tied care¬ 
fully around her head. 

She had come early, before the arrival of the “white 
folks,” and had been assisted to the seat by Simon. 

“I wondah if the big doctah will take any notice of 
me?” she said to Simon. “I ain’t walked a step in 
ten years widout my crutches. Lawd, if he would jest 
kore me, I would shout all ovah the church!” she 
declared. 

All eyes were turned to Margey when she sang. 
Many whispers of “How beautiful!” “She is to be 
married next Sunday.” “What a lucky man to get 
her!” could be heard. 

The sick, the maimed, the halt and the blind hung 
rapturously on her words as she sang: 

“The Great Physician now is near, 

The sympathizing Jesus! 

He speaks the drooping heart to cheer, 

Oh, hear the voice of Jesus.” 

When she had finished, one great sigh seemed to 
rise from the audience. 

The “Bishop” arose, amidst great expectation and 
breathless silence. His presence inspired a feeling of 
confidence and power; even before he had uttered a 
word a Divine presence seemed to brood over the 
waiting throng. 

There was something about this man that made one 


Greater Things Than These: 189 

feel that the ground on which he stood was holy 
ground. When he spoke, there was a quality in his 
voice that sent a thrill to your fingertips. 

He opened his Bible, and without any preliminary 
announcement, read, “Verily, verily, I say unto you, 
he that believeth on Me the works that I do, shall he 
do also; and greater works than these shall he do, 
because I go unto my Father. 

“And whatsoever ye shall ask in My name, that 
will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son. 

“If ye shall ask anything in My name, I will do it.” 

He put down the Bible and paused for a long time. 

The audience was holding its breath until he should 
speak again. It seemed as if he never would! But 
at last, he raised his hand solemnly to heaven and 
said, “I believe with all my heart this wonderful prom¬ 
ise of Jesus!” 

Another sigh swept the audience and the nervous 
tension relaxed. “Today,” he went on, “we are going 
to prove the truth or untruth of the Christ’s words.” 

The faces of the afflicted ones lighted up with hope, 
while the several bishops on the rostrum shifted un¬ 
easily in their seats. The ministers, in the body of 
the church, glanced about as if doubtful as to the 
propriety of their presence there. 

“He is the Master of the ages ! Master as preacher, 
teacher, healer, metaphysician and science of the soul, 
which is the true science of life. 

“He was master of his body. He could lay it down 
and take it up at will. He could pass through the 
throng, invisible to the eye, because He had the mas¬ 
tery over matter. 

“The winds and the waves obeyed His will, and a 
few loaves and fishes fed five thousand. 


190 Thf Bishop of the Ozarks 

“He could converse with those in the spirit world, 
just as readily and naturally as with those in the body. 

“He taught that man is not body but spirit, and that 
God is spirit. His statement of the fundamentals of 
life are as eternal as the rock of ages—and today 
science is beginning to accept His teachings as abso¬ 
lutely scientific. 

“He said that we could not serve God and mammon 
—in other words, we must be wholly spiritual or 
wholly material. There is no compromise; no half 
way ground, and to those who believe His words, 
there is nothing that He did that we cannot do. The 
church has buried the truth beneath a fog of error, 
superstition and dogma, and has consequently lost its 
power. 

“The Holy Spirit is just as potent today as when 
it filled the upper room in Jerusalem. It can fill this 
church-house, this morning. It can fill whole cities, 
whole nations. 

“Jesus taught a natural religion, which is the same 
as saying a scientific religion. No religion can last 
that cannot answer the severest tests of science. 

“The religion of Jesus Christ has lived through 
twenty centuries, notwithstanding the materialism that 
has taken possession of the churches. And today it 
is emerging, triumphant, from the critical analysis of 
higher criticism and the fiery ordeal of scientific re¬ 
search and philosophic reasoning. 

“Jesus was crucified because He announced to the 
world that He and all men were sons of God. The 
materialism of his day could not comprehend this vital 
truth any more than can the materialism of today. 

“If He were on earth now, He would be crucified, 
not on a wooden cross, but on the cross of ridicule 
and persecution. 


Greater Things Than These 191 

“The church departed from its ancient moorings 
when it rejected the promise of Jesus read to you this 
morning. And as the church has departed from the 
spiritual conception of man, the world has reacted to 
the doctrine of materialism. 

“Today, gross materialism threatens to engulf the 
world. It has done so time and time again. Races 
have arisen, learned the truth, lived it for a time and 
then fallen back into materialism to be swept from 
the scene of action leaving not a trace behind. 

“Today, the organized church is dominated by the 
materialistic idea. Men are preaching a materialistic 
God, a materialistic religion, in which they, themselves, 
do not believe, and at which a high school boy would 
laugh. 

“They leave it to the various cults to teach half- 
truths, drawing the people away from the churches 
when they ought to be proclaiming the whole truth as 
taught by Jesus. 

“They abuse this cult and that for doing some of 
the works done by Jesus, because the church has lost 
its power of the early days. 

“Today, I proclaim a militant church, accepting to 
the last word the promises of Jesus, and performing 
for sinful, suffering humanity everything that He did! 

“If this is not possible, then Jesus was the arch 
deceiver of the ages, for He, knowing the law of 
spirit—as no other master has ever known it—said 
that those coming after Him, should do even greater 
things. 

“I furthermore declare that the church is the great¬ 
est organized force for good in the world and the 
only organized force prepared to cope with the wave 
of materialism, now threatening the world. 

“With all its faults, and they are many, with all 


192 


The: Bishop op the Ozarks 


its shortcomings, and they are like the sands on the 
seashore, the church is the light of the world and— 
the hope of the world. 

“In order to redeem the world, the church must 
preach the full gospel of Jesus without omitting one 
jot or tittle, for as I have already said, it is founded 
on sound scientific principles. 

“The hungry soul must have religion. Nothing else 
satisfies. But it must be a rational religion, and the 
religion of Jesus answers this requirement. 

“It must be able to remove the sense of sin and 
guilt. It must be able to heal the body and keep it 
well. It must be able to push back the veil that hides 
from our view our loved ones who have passed over 
and let us know that they are still living, even more 
vitally, more wonderfully, than when they inhabited 
earthly bodies. 

“Religion must prove, scientifically prove, that if a 
man die, he shall live again. 

“I believe the church is about to assume this func¬ 
tion. It can no longer shirk its duty behind a barrage 
of outgrown theology that might have satisfied men 
who believed that the earth was flat and that railroads, 
electricity, and other modern inventions were the works 
of the devil. 

“I love the church! If I had but one hour to live 
and could be heard by all the world, I would spend it, 
to my last breath, calling men back to Christ and the 
cross! to Gethsemane; to Calvary and to the church! 
Well did the poet say: 

“ T love Thy church, O God! 

Her walls before Thee stand, 

Dear as the apple of Thine eye, 

And graven on Thy hand. 


Greater Things Than These 


193 


For her my tears shall fall, 

For her my prayers ascend ; 

To her my cares and toils be given, 

Till cares and toils shall end.’ 

“This church stands for the old-time religion; the 
religion of the Holy Ghost, scientifically preached and 
understood. Today, I declare the full measure and 
teachings of Jesus, my Master, my elder brother. 

“He is the great physician, whose presence I prom¬ 
ised you this morning. I declare unto you, He is 
here! His promise was that when two or three were 
met in His name, He would be in their midst! 

“There are scores gathered here in His name this 
morning, believing His word, accepting the whole 
gospel of health, happiness and plenty —here and now! 

“We have now come to the supreme moment when 
Christ’s words must either fail or be fulfilled. If you 
have faith, even as a grain of mustard seed, you can 
be healed this very instant! 

“The great Physician is here! He lays His hand 
upon your head, as He did on the shores of Galilee, 
and says, ‘Be ye whole.’ 

“As His humble representative I say in His name, 
and by the power of the one God—‘according to your 
faith be it unto you!’ 

“And, according to the faith in each soul, here I 
pronounce you, everyone of you, every whit whole, in 
His name. Amen!’’ 

For a short time no one stirred. The “Bishop” still 
stood, with outstretched hands, as if pronouncing a 
blessing on the congregation. The silence became 

painful. 

Suddenly, a man cried, “I see ! Thank God! I see 
for the first time in twenty years!’’ 

And then another received his sight and began to 
praise God. 


194 The Bishop of the Ozarks 

A lame man threw down his crutches and leaped 
on the platform, shouting for joy! Then a man, who 
had been brought in on a stretcher, sat up, arose and 
came forward, the light of joy in his face. 

And now by dozens, by scores, they are healed, until 
the whole section occupied by the afflicted ones, is 
filled with men and women talking, laughing, weeping 
for joy and shouting praises to the Holy Spirit. 

In the midst of this wonderful scene, Aunt Dinah, 
the old colored mammy, whom Simon had smuggled 
into the church, threw her crutches high in the air, 
and forgetful that it was a “white folks meetin’,” 
marched down the aisle to where the “Bishop” was 
standing, surrounded by his brother bishops, grasped 
him by the hand and said: 

“I know’d if Jesus wus the doctah, you said would 
be heah, dat He would kore me, same as if I wus 
white! an’ bress God He dun’ kored my rumatiz, what 
kep’ me frum walkin’ a step in ten years!” 


CHAPTER XVI 

The Night Before the Wedding 

It has been said: “Coming events cast their shad¬ 
ows before.” 

We have all experienced the feeling that something 
tragic was about to happen. 

In the midst of the gaiety of the preparations for 
the greatest church wedding that had ever occurred 
in Birmingham, the interested persons labored under 
a feverish excitement and an indefinable dread. 

Margey was supremely happy and downcast by 
turns. 

Dr. Burroughs was putting the finishing touches 
on his masterpiece. His hand seemed a little less 
certain than usual, as though the spirit-painter guid¬ 
ing it, was affected by this feeling, which possessed 
them all. Burroughs felt a sense of uncertainty, as if 
he were groping in the shadows. 

The “Shepherd Woman” assisted Margey with her 
preparations in silence, but there was a tense, troubled 
look on her face, seldom seen there by any one. 

Old Simon, super-sensitive to anything affecting his 
beloved white folks, went about his duties, muttering 
to himself, a sure sign that his thoughts were troubled 
ones. 

“I always talks to myself when Tse pestered,” he 
had often said to Margey when she had overheard 
him. 

Tonight, he voiced his feelings in unusual mutter- 
ings: “Somethin’ awful gwine to happen—I don’ 
know what ’tis, but it’s ’bout de ‘Bishop’ an’ Mis’ 
Margey! How I wish Marsa Garrett wus heah! I 
feels lak he could help, some way. But he done tele- 
graf he won’t be heah til’ mornin’, jist in time fer de 
weddin\ 


196 The Bishop oe the Ozarks 

“So I reckon it’s all up to me an’ God. An’ I’se a 
powful po’ stick, but I’ll do the bes’ I kin, trustin’ in 
His name!” 

On account of the eminence of Bishop Chapman 
and the unusual charm of Margey as well as for the 
prominence of Burroughs, the seven bishops who as¬ 
sisted in the consecration of Chapman, as a bishop, 
were to attend the wedding. 

Margey insisted that her father perform the cere¬ 
mony, saying: “I will not allow any one else to read 
the service at my marriage!” 

The bishops had dined with the Chapmans and 
Margey had sung for them to their great delight. 

After their departure, the “Bishop” retired to his 
study, while Margey, assisted by the “Shepherd Wo¬ 
man,” tried on her wedding gown. 

The “Bishop’s” study was always open to any one 
wanting to see him. Rich or poor, young and old, 
saint and sinner always found the same kindly wel¬ 
come. 

No one was ever turned away empty-handed or 
empty-hearted. Hundreds, who had entered that 
sanctuary sick, heart-hungry, weary of life, had gone 
away well in body and serene in spirit. 

The “Bishop” desired to be alone this night, and 
was glad of the opportunity of this hour for self-com¬ 
munion, for he, too, felt the presence of some sinister 
influence; what it was, he could not discern. 

Several times since he had assumed the name of 
Roger Chapman, he had experienced this feeling of 
dread. This night it gripped him as never before. 
Each gust of wind, causing a rustling of the leaves on 
the trees outside his window, made him start. 

A timid knock on his door drew him out of his 
reverie. He opened it and a woman came in, apologiz- 


The Night Before: the: Weeding 197 

ing for disturbing him at that time of the night. She 
explained she was a widow; that she was out of work 
and her child was ill, and there was no food in the 
house. She said: “I did not know where to go for 
help, except to you, dear ‘Bishop/ who are known far 
and wide, to be the friend of the poor!” 

The “Bishop,” ever ready to respond, even beyond 
his ability, to all demands of the needy, showed great 
interest in her story and besides giving her some 
money, gave advice and sympathy, saying: “I will 
visit your sick child in the morning.” 

A few moments later, a loud and impatient knock 
echoed through the study. The “Bishop” opened the 
door to see a ragged, dirty tramp standing outside. 
When the tramp staggered into the room, the “Bishop” 
could not help noting the evil look on the unshaven 
face. 

“I’m half starved,” he said in a harsh voice. “Bern’s 
youse a preacher, I thought I’d see ef you’d feed a 
feller, or—turn me over to th’ cops. That’s what 
most sky-pilots do! But I heard how you was differ¬ 
ent, so I thought I’d come in and take a chance.” 

“I am only too glad to share my blessings with 
you, my friend,” said the “Bishop.” Summoning 
Simon, he told him to bring food for the stranger. 

Simon, mentally measuring the tramp’s capacity, 
brought an abundance of food, then withdrew to an 
adjoining room, from which he could watch the hun¬ 
gry man as he ate. 

He had never seen even a wild animal devour food 
more ravenously. 

When the tramp had finished, he arose as if to go. 
He had been watching the “Bishop,” furtively, as he 
consumed the food placed before him, but had eaten in 
silence. 


198 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


"Is there anything else I can do for you before you 
go?” kindly inquired the “Bishop.” 

“Yes, you can give me some money,” answered the 
tramp. “I need it in my business!” 

When the “Bishop” handed him a dollar, the tramp 
took it scornfully. “Just one poor damned dollar an’ 
you livin’ in luxury, with a nigger to wait on you! 
Out with every damned cent you’ve got and be quick 
about it!” 

The “Bishop” was facing the tramp’s pistol as this 
brutal demand was made on him. A dangerous look 
came into the “Bishop’s” eyes; a look that had caused 
many men to quail in his bandit days. 

Coolly, calmly, but with a ring in his voice that 
caused the tramp’s hand to tremble, he said: “Put that 
thing in your pocket this instant or I’ll take it away 
from you and break it across your head!” 

Slowly, the tramp lowered the weapon, gazing as 
if fascinated, at the “Bishop.” Then a wicked, cun¬ 
ning look came into his face. 

“Ha ! Ha !” he laughed. “So you’re a preacher now, 
are you? 

“And you ain’t afeared of a gun. You kin look 
right through a man an’ make him lay it down! Well, 
you’re a hell of a preacher! You’d make a better 
train robber. I never seed but one man in my life that 
could make me do what you just done, an’ that man 
was named TOM SULLIVAN, an’ it’s him that jest 
now performed the mericle of makin’ me put up my 
gun by lookin’ at me!” 

The man had edged toward the door as he spoke 
and now stood with his hand on the knob. 

“Yes, damn you ! I know you now ! You knocked 
me down like a dog once when you wus a convict and 
I wus yer boss. I’m Mart Stoneman! An’ I am 


The: Night Before: the Wedding 199 

powerful glad to meet-up with you once more, Tom 
Sullivan! 

“I never did believe it wus you them guards shot. 
I alius reckoned you wus too slick to be caught in a 
trap like that, so I’ve been lookin’ fer you fer twenty 
years an’ more an’ now I got you, damn you! An’ 
now I’m goin’ out an’ tell everybody I see on the 
street, you’re a damned convict, an’ then I’ll find a 
policeman to run you in!” 

Opening the door, the tramp made a hasty exit, 
closing it with a loud bang. 

The “Bishop” fell into his chair dazed. He was be¬ 
wildered, incapable of thinking clearly. 

Simon, who had overheard the tramp’s charges, 
stood rooted to the spot, not daring to move or speak. 

After a time another knock aroused the “Bishop” 
from his agonizing thoughts. Feeling that he dare not 
trust his limbs to take his body across the room, he 
called, “Come in!” instead of going to open the door. 

It was Mart Stoneman, this time accompanied by 
a policeman. The policeman greeted Bishop Chap¬ 
man warmly: “I’m Billy McGinnis. You remember 
curin’ my little fellow once? An’ you drove the devil 
out of me, too, so I ain’t never drank no more booze. 
Me an’ Nancy are jest like sweethearts; an’ the kids 
are all well an’ goin’ to school! We owe it all to you, 
“Bishop,” an’ I’d do anything in my power fer you, 
even to killin’ a tramp,” he said, looking steadily at the 
wretched creature at his side. 

“This bird come runnin’ down the street, shoutin’ 
at the top of his lungs, that you wa’n’t Roger Chapman 
at all, but your name is Tom Sullivan, the worst train 
robber an’ bandit that’s ever been in Alabama! 

“When he run into me, I shut up his bazoo pretty 
quick. I told him I’d smash his head wid my stick. 


200 


The: Bishop op the Ozarks 


Then I took him by the collar an’ brought him up 
here to ask you what to do with him. 

“Shall I lock him up, run him out of town, or break 
his gourd? 

“Of course, nobody will believe the crazy galoot, 
but he ain’t got no business goin’ ’bout the streets 
shoutin’ lies about you.” 

At this the tramp began to rave, cursing, his lips 
foaming in his rage. “He is Tom Sullivan! An’ all 
hell can’t stop me from tellin’ it. He hit me once an’ 
I’m goin’ to have him back where he’ll serve his time, 
if I die an’ go to hell for it!” 

McGinnis was about to strike Stoneman with his 
club, when the “Bishop” interfered. “Don’t do that, 
McGinnis,” he said. “That is no way to settle this 
man’s charges. I am to perform Margey’s marriage 
ceremony at the church, tomorrow. A large audience 
will be there, and it will be proper for me at that 
time to refute this man’s charges. You may come to 
morrow to hear what I have to say.” 

“Yes, by God, an’ I’ll be there, too,” exclaimed the 
tramp. 

“You bet you will, sonny,” said McGinnis, “for 
I’m goin’ to lock you up for tonight so you can’t sneak 
out of town. Tomorrow, I’ll escort you to the church 
an’ let you hear the ‘Bishop’ give you the lie!” 

Margey came in, wearing her wedding dress, just 
as the policeman and the tramp were leaving. She 
caught a glimpse of them and inquired of her father, 
the reason for their visit. “Oh, it’s just a little mat¬ 
ter of a private nature, nothing to bother your pretty 
head about,” he answered. 

She was radiantly beautiful in her matchless gown, 
and Chapman was very proud of her. “What a beau¬ 
tiful bride!” he exclaimed, “and you are just as good 
as you are lovely.” 


The Night Before the Wedding 201 

Reverently he kissed her when they said good night. 
When she had gone, he buried his head in his hands. 

Margey did not remove her wedding gown when 
she reached her room, but sat down, near the window, 
so she could see the dancing lights of the city, far 
below. 

As she sat in happy reverie, a strange sensation 
began stealing over her, which caused her to shudder. 
She felt a presence, an uncanny presence. She hastily 
glanced toward the door, expecting to see some one 
enter. 

To account for her emotions, we will look into the 
home of Earl Godfrey, a few blocks distant. 

For weeks he had not seen a newspaper or heard 
a word from the outside world. He had lived in 
constant fear and dread of death. Some terrible dis¬ 
ease of the mind seemed to have cursed him, for his 
body had grown weak and emaciated. 

He tried to keep from thinking as he did not want 
his desires to become aroused, for he knew that he 
possessed the power to compel the fulfillment of any 
wish he might have through the accursed stone given 
him by Peter Bardwell. 

Remembering the dreadful experiences he had un¬ 
dergone when he had invoked this power before, he 
felt that he would never dare use it again. 

He never left his house now and kept the blinds 
down so that he would not see any one passing on the 
street. His meals were served to him by his valet, 
the only person Godfrey had seen for some time. 

This faithful servant brought such food as he 
thought his master would like, without consulting him, 
and it was eaten without comment. 

On this evening the man removed the table on 
which Godfrey had partaken his meal, and left him for 
the night. 


202 


The: Bishop of the Ozarks 


By some accursed chance, the valet had dropped 
the evening paper on the floor and had gone without 
discovering the fact. 

As Godfrey sat brooding by the open grate, he 
chanced to see the paper on the floor. Angrily, he 
kicked it aside, cursing the servant for his stupidity. 

When he looked again, it lay open before him, the 
big headlines seemed to challenge him. He started 
up with a cry, like that of a wild animal, as he read 
the words: “BIG CHURCH WEDDING TOMOR¬ 
ROW, Margey Chapman Will Be Led to the Altar 
by Doctor Percy Burroughs!” 

With a volley of oaths, he threw the paper into the 
fire and watched it as it curled to ashes. Suddenly he 
sprang from his chair, galvanized into action by his 
secret emotions. 

“I'll be damned if he shall have her!” he exclaimed 
defiantly. “I want her myself and I’ll have her despite 
all the powers of hell!” 

His old-time strength seemed to have returned to 
him; he strode up and down the room, his eyes glowing 
like coals of fire, a hectic flush on his cheeks. 

He took the crystal, of such uncanny, evil power, 
from its hiding place. Once more he unwound the 
sheep-skin covering and gazed into its mysterious 
depths. 

“Margey Chapman!” he said, “I command you to 
come to me! If it is the last act of my life, I must 
have you.” 

He expected to experience the terrible phenomena 
he had suffered before, when he used the crystal, but 
experiencing no such sensations he felt a sense of wild, 
delirious joy. 

“Ah!” he said, “I have overcome that, so now I 
can have the fulfillment of my desires, without experi¬ 
encing any bad consequences. 


The Night Before the Wedding 203 

“Life takes on glorious colorings! The world is 
mine! Margey Chapman is mine and tonight, tonight, 
I shall realize the wildest dream of my imagination!’' 

He summoned his valet, with a violent ring of the 
bell, who came in fear and trembling, wondering what 
dreadful thing had befallen his master, that would 
cause him to call him at this hour of the night. 

“I am expecting a lady,” Godfrey said, “and you 
will admit her, without question and show her directly 
to my room. She will be here in a short time, so be on 
the lookout for her. 

“Don’t stare at me like a stupid ass,” he exclaimed. 
“I am perfectly well! I am going to receive my bride. 
It is a profound secret but tomorrow the entire city 
will be wild with excitement because of it.” 

As he waited for Margey, he found paper, pen and 
ink and began to write in feverish haste. 

“To Dr. Percy Burroughs,” he wrote. “When this 
is delivered to you, I will be many miles away from 
here, on a long journey, that may last many years. 
With me will be Margey Chapman, whom you are ex¬ 
pecting to make your bride, on the morrow. 

“When you were given a cheap painting of your 
Christ, by Peter Bardwell, he gave me an ancient stone, 
the one offered by the Devil to Christ, but refused by 
Him. The possessor of this crystal can have any mate¬ 
rial desire granted. As a result I have obtained wealth 
and the gratification of my every desire, except one, 
and that ONE will soon be satisfied. 

“I have lived and enjoyed, while you have worked 
and starved, for the good things of this world. 

“Bardwell told me the price I must pay would be 
my soul, but knowing man has no soul, I cheerfully 
accepted the bargain. So I am the winner in Life’s 
game, for when I am dead that will be the end, and 


204 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


I will have had the things I craved, while you have 
been cheated out of earth’s pleasures. 

“Tonight my cup of gratification will be full, for 
I am compelling Margey Chapman to come to me. It 
will be our nuptial night, and if anything should befall 
me, I will have had the fulfillment of my supreme 
desire. 

“You say man has a soul, which I deny. But if 
there is a soul then mine is the soul of lust, and I am 
ready to barter it a thousand times for Margey Chap¬ 
man !” 

* * * * 

As Margey gazed toward the door, she saw two 
burning eyes, wicked and uncanny! They were the 
eyes of Earl Godfrey. 

They burned into her brain. She was seized with 
a wild recklessness; her cheeks burned; her eyes 
sparkled, her breast heaved with a tremendous emotion. 
She succumbed to the wild, hypnotic spell of the eyes 
that commanded her and she had no power of re¬ 
sistance. 

An unseen hand seized her and she was powerless 
in its grasp. Her window being open and but a few 
inches to the ground, she stepped out and went toward 
the street, forgetting that she was wearing her bridal 
robe; unmindful of the people, who stopped and stared 
at her, she went toward the home of Godfrey. 

Simon, who was taking the “Bishop’s” automobile, 
from the garage, saw her leave the house. In great 
fear he followed close behind her. 

Now, she approaches Godfrey’s house and rings 
the bell. The door opens noiselessly, and she is admit¬ 
ted by the valet, who looks at her, without knowing 
her. He ushers her to Godfrey’s luxuriously fur¬ 
nished room. The valet shows her to the door and 








He seizes Margey, the lust in his soul maddening hi 





The: Night Before: the Wedding 205 

discreetly retires. Margey, like one walking in her 
sleep, knocks; the door opens and she enters. 

Godfrey welcomes her with the glad cry of a tiger, 
about to leap upon its prey. He seizes Margey, the 
lust in his soul maddening him. 

Now, he hears the sound as of distant thunder! 
His eyes are blinded by a lurid flash and he realizes 
that he is again to pay the penalty for the gratification 
of his base desires. 

He gasps for breath, an iron hand is at his throat, 
he feels that death is upon him. 

But no, he will cheat death for a little time! He 
determines to live until he can satisfy his last desire. 

How frightful is his struggle with death ! The grim 
monster is winning in the battle! His lust continues to 
consume him. He will not die until his burning thirst 
has been quenched! 

In his frenzy, he fastens his teeth in Margey’s 
beautiful shoulder and the blood gushes from the 
wound in a crimson stream, staining her bridal gown. 

He sucks the warm blood like a vampire, as though 
this will satisfy his lust. 

“I want you! I want you!” he cries, making one 
last, frantic effort to overcome death, but death did 
not let go its strangle hold! Godfrey's jaws drop 
apart; his eyes become glazed; he sweats great drops 
of blood; his hold on Margey relaxes and he falls to 
the floor, a shrunken, quivering piece of putrid flesh 
that once housed a soul. 

That soul was seen to vanish, by Simon, who 
rushed in at that moment, and all that remained was 
the semblance of a grinning devil, which he gazed upon 
with horror. 

Simon had followed closely behind Margey and 
she had barely been admitted, when he rushed after 
her, ringing the door bell, violently. 


206 The: Bishop of the Ozarics 

When the servant returned from showing Margey 
to Godfrey’s room, he reluctantly opened the door, to 
the repeated ringing. He tried to bar the old negro’s 
entrance, but with one blow, he felled the startled 
valet, and leaped over his prostrate form, and rushed 
toward the room, from which issued Godfrey’s exult¬ 
ant cry when Margey entered. 

Finding the door locked, he threw his frail form 
against it, again and again, in his desperation, until it 
finally crashed in. 

He staggered in, just in time to see Godfrey 
crumple up in a heap on the floor, and to catch Mar¬ 
gey in his arms, as she swooned. 

As Simon was about to leave the room of the tragic 
occurrence, he saw the letter addressed to Dr. Percy 
Burroughs on the table; some instinct made him seize 
it, and with Margey in his arms, he fled from the 
house. 

When he reached the street, he found to his dis¬ 
may, that it was raining but, fortunately, a taxicab was 
passing, which he signaled and entered with his uncon¬ 
scious burden. He directed the driver to drive rapidly 
to the home of Bishop Chapman. 

Margey, who was regaining consciousness, dimly 
understood what was happening, roused and said 
faintly, “Go to Dr. Burroughs’ studio, Simon!” so the 
perturbed old man changed the instructions to the 

driver, and urged him to hasten to the latter address. 

* * * * 

The “Bishop” sat for a long time with his head 
bowed in his hands, after Margey left him. He 
seemed utterly incapable of thinking. Suddenly a 
great fear seized him; fear for Margey! 

He hastily went to her room, to find it empty. He 
noticed that the bridal veil was spread across the bed, 
but the wedding robe was not in sight. 


The Night Before the Wedding 207 

He rang for Simon, but there was no response to 
his ring. Then he knocked on the “Shepherd Wo¬ 
man’s” door and asked if Margey were there, to be 
told that she was in her own room. 

Not desiring to alarm the good woman, the “Bish¬ 
op” did not tell her that Margey was not in her own 
room, and in his perplexity, he decided to go to Bur¬ 
roughs’ studio. “Perhaps Margey has gone to let Percy 
see her in her wedding finery and, of course, has had 
Simon drive her there!” he thought, it being the only 
explanation of her absence. “It is only one of the 
sweet child’s caprices!” Thus reasoned the good 
“Bishop” as he traversed the short distance to the 
studio. 

When he arrived, the door was ajar and he heard, 
to his amazement, the voice of Margey, who was tell¬ 
ing Burroughs, in a highly excited voice, a weird story 
of a visit to Godfrey’s home. 

Silently and unobserved he entered, and was 
shocked to see Margey’s blood-stained bridal gown! 
She was telling in tragic tones of Earl Godfrey’s evil 
influence over her, and of the devilish power he had 
exerted to force her to come to his room. Almost 
hysterically she recited the horrors of his tragic death 
and of her rescue by Simon. Hastily reading the letter 
that Simon had thrust into his hand on their arrival at 
the studio, Burroughs tossed it aside and taking the 
trembling girl by the hand said, “I understand all!” 

“But I am unworthy of you!” cried Margey; “I 
came to say that our marriage, tomorrow, will be im¬ 
possible !” 

“Let me show you, dear, my finished painting of 
Christ,” he said, “and you will understand my love for 
you!” He pulled aside the drapery covering the paint¬ 
ing, and a cry of pain escaped Margey’s lips. 


208 


The: Bishop op the Ozarks 


For the first time they became aware of the “Bish¬ 
op’s” presence, when he exclaimed, “God help me !” and 
Margey and Burroughs turned toward him in amaze¬ 
ment. 

“This is the spirit-painting,” exclaimed Burroughs. 
“It is not my idea at all, but the work of a great artist, 
on the other side, who declines to reveal his name to 
me.” 

In the foreground of the canvas, were two human 
figures, one that of Mary Magdalene; the other a man 
wearing a convict’s garb. There were chains on his 
ankles and manacles about his wrists. 

They looked as if they were being driven out across 
a desert waste. Behind them was a threatening storm- 
cloud ; their pleading, agonized faces were turned 
toward the distant horizon. 

“I will change the light,” said Burroughs, “that you 
may see the entire work of the artist.” 

As the “Bishop” and Margey watched, spell-bound, 
there appeared very dimly, at first, the outline of a 
cross, rising above the distant horizon. Then, as they 
looked intently, the form of the suffering Christ was 
revealed, hanging suspended on the cross. He be¬ 
stowed a look of infinite pity and compassion on the 
Magdalene and on the convict. 

Margey threw herself upon her knees, weeping 
convulsively. “I am the Magdalene!” she cried, “but 
for the mercy of God!” 

“And I am the convict!” the “Bishop” sobbed, as he 
took the weeping girl in his arms, mingling his tears 
with hers. 

“And there is nothing for ME to forgive,” rever¬ 
ently said Burroughs, “for I am not without fault and 
the Christ intercedes for each of us!” 

Dr. Burroughs took Bishop Chapman and Margey 
home, and when he had pressed a good-night kiss upon 


The Night Before the Wedding 209 

her brow, Margey experienced a peace of soul greater 
than she had ever felt before. 

Not so the “Bishop.” He went to his study, after 
an affectionate good night to Margey, locked his door 
and faced the ordeal awaiting him on the morrow. 

Once before when a crisis arose, he had gone to the 
“Shepherd Woman" for advice, but tonight he deter¬ 
mined to fight it out alone! Alone with his God ! 

He brought forth, once more, from its hiding place, 
the old and battered trunk, where the blood-stained 
convict suit had been concealed so long. The suit 
worn by the real Roger Chapman, when he was brutal¬ 
ly shot down! 

As he gazed at it his soul was filled with agony as 
the years passed in review before him. 

From his mother’s death-bed, when he had given 
his promise to become a minister, to the present hour, 
was a far cry, but he must retrace every step of the 
way. 

He must drink the worm-wood and gall to its bitter 
dregs, because he had been untrue to that promise; 
untrue to himself! 

The fact that he had lived a life of service to his 
fellow-men for more than twenty years, did not atone 
in his mind for his sins. 

That he had lived a life of deception during these 
years, seemed worse to him, tonight, than having been 
a bandit or having robbed trains. He now realized 
that he had always assuaged his conscience by claiming 
to himself that it was for Margey’s sake. 

This was no doubt true, but tonight, in his self- 
condemnatory state, he denied himself even that con¬ 
solation. 

There was before him a terrible ordeal! Tomor¬ 
row he must again tell a lie; deny the charges made by 
the tramp or tell the truth and suffer the consequences. 


210 


The: Bishop of the Ozarks 


If he denied the charges, that would be the end of 
the matter, for every one would take his word rather 
than that of the tramp; besides every one knew him as 
Roger Chapman. Margey thought it; Simon would 
swear to it; then why not challenge the tramp’s state¬ 
ment ? 

Besides, if he told the truth, Margey would be 
heart-broken; her love for him would change to hate, 
prompted the tempter. He would be scorned and hissed 
by his congregation and led away in shackles to don 
the felon’s stripes; returned to the penitentiary to 
complete his long sentence! 

“The Shepherd Woman” had given him the paint¬ 
ing of Christ on the cross, before which he had knelt on 
that first evening in the Ozarks. It now hung in his 
study and always seemed to look down on him when 
he sat in his accustomed chair before his desk. 

And so now, when his mind was torn with contend¬ 
ing thoughts and his soul tossed between warring emo¬ 
tions, he turned toward the painting of the Christ. The 
sad eyes of the suffering Saviour seemed to rest upon 
him, and peace and calm came stealing into his soul. 
He fell on his knees before the blessed Son of God, his 
face illumined with the same light of His, on the cross, 
murmuring, “Not my will but Thine, be done!” bow¬ 
ing his head humbly on his breast. 

* * * * 

When Simon left Margey in Dr. Burroughs’ care, 
he hastened to the “Bishop’s” garage and brought out 
the high-powered automobile that the “Shepherd Wo¬ 
man” had given the “Bishop.” “I’se pow’ful glad I 
knows how to drive her,” he said, “fer it’s a life an’ 
def trip me’s gwine tu male tu Montgomery!” talking 
softly to himself as he made some necessary prepara¬ 
tions for his journey. 


Tiie Night Before the Wedding 211 

“If I axed de ‘Bishop’ he’d say, ‘No’—but dis is 
one time I ain’t axin’ nobody but Simon!” 

As noiselessly as possible, he rolled out of the 
garage, but as soon as he found himself on Highland 
avenue, he began to feed the gasoline and the big car 
leaped forward like a race horse. 

“I reckon I kin make it in ’bout three hours, if I 
don’t bust somethin’,” he muttered. 

It was long past midnight when the big automobile 
raced through the deserted streets of Montgomery and 
finally halted before the Executive Mansion. 

Simon had been there many times with the “Bishop” 
or with Margey so he knew how to find his way. 

It took some time to arouse any one, but at last a 
sleepy servant came to the door. “Lawd have mercy, 
Simon!” he exclaimed. “What you doin’ heah dis time 
ob night?” 

“It’s a case ob life an’ def, Sambo,” answered 
Simon, “an’ I gotta see th’ govenah at once!” 

“But he’ll kill me if I wake him up dis time o’ 
night!” said the servant in alarm. 

“Tell him dat it is Simon, sent heah by Bishop 
Chapman, an’ say dat de ‘Bishop’s’ life an’ de life ob 
Mis’ Margey depend on it!” 

Simon’s great earnestness made Sambo forget his 
dread of the governor’s wrath, so he went to deliver 
Simon’s message. 

In a few moments, the governor, wearing smoking 
jacket and slippers, received Simon in his study. 

“What do you mean, you black rascal, by disturb¬ 
ing a gentleman at this hour of the night?” said the 
governor, assuming a severity he did not really feel. 

“I ax yoah pahdon, Govenah!” said Simon ear¬ 
nestly, “but ah got de strangest tale to tel yo’, dat you 
evah read in a book, or heard in yoah life, Govenah, 


212 


The: Bishop of the Ozarks 


an’ I mus’ tell it to yoah tonite an’ git a pardin frum 
yoah an’ git back to Birmingham befor’ de weddin’ 
tomorrah!” 

‘‘What have you been up to, Simon, that you want 
a pardon ? I thought you were getting too old to shoot 
craps or step out with the girls,” said the governor, 
banteringly. 

“Lawd, Govenah ! ’Tain’t me dat needs a pahdon ! 
It’s de ‘Bishop’!” 

“The ‘Bishop’, did you say ? Simon, in God’s 
name what do you mean ?” 

“Dat’s whah de stranges’ story in de work comes 
in, an’ if you’ll ’scuse me, I’ll begin at de beginnin’ an’ 
tell it all de way fru, an’ yoah kin undastan’ it bettah.” 

The gray dawn was breaking, when Simon finished 
his story. 

In all his life, the governor had never read in 
fiction nor heard in real life, anything so unusual; so 
unbelievable! 

“No wonder some one has said, ‘Truth is stranger 
than fiction’!” said the governor, after he had listened 
to the thrilling narrative, to the last word. 

“Do you remember telling me, Simon, when I came 
to the Ozarks, seeking the man whose face I had seen 
in a photograph, that the ‘Bishop’ had lost his mem¬ 
ory ; that he had no recollection back of the time when 
he was being consecrated a ‘Bishop’ and you said that 
the ceremonies had to be suspended because of his 
sudden illness ?” 

“Yas, sah ! Ah ’membahs tellin’ yoah dat.” 

“Why did you tell me that, Simon?” 

“Becase I didn’t want yoah to ax him no questions, 
dat he couldn’t anser, sur.” 

“Then you have not been deceived all these years; 
you have simply pretended to believe that he was 
Roger Chapman?” 


The Night Beeore th£ Wadding 213 

“Dat's de fac’, Govenah.” 

“Have you ever let him know that you were only 
pretending ?” 

“Nevah once in all dese yeahs, Govenah !” 

“ Then all I have got to say is, you are the boss 
deceiver of the ages, and that you deserve a niche in 
the Hall of Fame!” 

“I reckon dat ‘niche’ means sum place to hang me,” 
said Simon, “but I hopes dat won’t keep yoah frum 
pahdonin’ de ‘Bishop’!” 

“No, I will not allow that to prevent me from per¬ 
forming the most pleasant duty which has fallen to 
my lot since I have been governor. I have no regular 
forms here, for issuing a pardon, but I can write one 
that will answer every purpose.” 

Seating himself at a table, the governor wrote 
rapidly:— 

“To whom it may concern: This is to certify that 
I, Chief Executive of Alabama, for good and sufficient 
reasons, hereby pardon Thomas Sullivan, now known 
as Bishop Chapman, restoring him to full citizenship. 

“In this connection, I want to express my un¬ 
bounded faith in him. Of all the men I have ever 
known, he is the noblest, save one, and that one is an 
old negro man, Simon Gordon, by name.” 

The governor signed his name, affixed the great 
seal of State, and handed the document to Simon, who 
placed it carefully inside his coat. 

Grasping the old colored man by the hand, the 
governor said with great feeling: “Blessed art thou, 
Simon! For flesh and blood hath not revealed such 
love; such loyalty; such devotion unto thee, but the 
Spirit of Him, who shall say to you at the last day, 
‘Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into 
the joys of thy Lord!’ ” 


CHAPTER XVII 
The Bishop's Confession 

The wedding morning dawned bright and fair. 

A holy spirit brooded over the household of the 
“Bishop.” Peace that passeth understanding filled the 
souls of the “Bishop” and Margey. Each had passed 
through Gethsemane and now stood on the heights of 
Calvary. 

To them the mocking-birds had never sung so joy¬ 
ously as on this morning, and when Margey came to 
the “Bishop’s” study, she found him clad in his bishop’s 
robe. He greeted her with deep tenderness and affec¬ 
tion, and she remembered for long years afterwards, 
the look of holy calm in his face. 

Buck Garrett arrived from the Ozarks, and there 
was a happy reunion when he, the “Bishop” and the 
“Shepherd Woman” had exchanged heartfelt greetings. 

“I wus so afeard my train would be late, I didn’t 
sleep much last night,” declared Garrett, “and I 
wouldn’t a missed the wedding for a coon-skin.” 

“Where are you and the doctor gwine to spend yore 
'honeymoon’?” he asked. 

“Where I had rather spend it than anywhere else 
in all the world—in Happy Valley,” declared Margey. 

“And are you gwine back home now ?” he asked the 
“Shepherd Woman” eagerly. “Everybody said fer me 
to bring you back with me.” 

“Yes, I will go back with the bride and groom,” she 
said. “That’s where my heart is also.” 

“And what about you, ‘Bishop’? You ain’t had no 
vacation fer a long time. Can’t you get off fer a 
month an’ spend it in Happy Valley? 

“With you all there it shore would be Paradise Val¬ 
ley for me an’ everybody else. 


The: Bishop’s Confession 


215 


“Of course, you must bring Simon along, fer it 
wouldn’t be quite right without Simon!” 

“I am afraid I can’t take my vacation now,” said 
the “Bishop.” “I have just decided on a task that will 
take me several years to perform, and if I live through 
it, I am coming back to Happy Valley to spend the 
evening of my life.” 

Margey’s anxiety was aroused by this declaration 
of the “Bishop.” She feared he was about to enter on 
some new undertaking that would overtax his strength. 

“What is it now, Dad?” she said lovingly. “Don’t 
you think you have done enough pioneering in the 
cause of humanity? There is a great cluster of jewels 
laid up for your crown of glory already. You must 
think of yourself, just for once in your life. 

“Whatever this new task is, won’t you lay it aside 
for a little while, at least, and come with us to Happy 
Valley? But do tell us what it is!” 

“Not now, my dear child but today, before the 
wedding ceremony, I will announce my plans to my 
congregation.” 

“Where’s Simon?” inquired Garrett. “I expected 
to see him, the first one, on my arrival.” 

“Oh, Simon feels that the success of the wedding 
rests altogether on his shoulders,” said the “Bishop.” 
“He was doubtless at the church by daylight this morn¬ 
ing and will not leave there until the ceremony is over.” 

“I heard him say he was going to assist Doctor 
Burroughs who has just finished a wonderful painting 
and is going to hang it in the church. It is such a re¬ 
markable picture, I requested him to exhibit it in the 
church today.” 

The house was filled to overflowing, when the hour 
for the wedding arrived. 

The seven bishops who consecrated Roger Chap¬ 
man a bishop, occupied seats of honor. 


216 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


Policeman McGinnis and Mart Stoneman, the 
tramp, sat in an obscure corner in the rear of the 
church. 

Simon was nowhere to be seen. 

The tramp’s charges had been whispered all over 
the city, and the air was full of all sorts of wild 
rumors. 

It was understood that Bishop Chapman had re* 
served comment and denial until he could make a state¬ 
ment to his entire congregation. Rumor said this state¬ 
ment would be made immediately after the wedding 
ceremony, which was to be performed by the “Bishop.” 

Margey had insisted that no one but her father 
should be permitted to officiate at her marriage. 

The great organ began the wedding march, and all 
eyes watched for the approach of the bride and groom. 
The women, especially, were eager to see the bride’s 
beautiful wedding gown. So when Margey came down 
the aisle, wearing a simple white dress, her only adorn¬ 
ment being an armful of lilies-of-the-valley, a breath¬ 
less exclamation of amazement swept the audience. 

Her simple dress, however, only served to accentu¬ 
ate her perfect beauty; her face vying with the lilies- 
of-the-valley in its purity. 

As they stood at the chancel, ready to hear the 
“Bishop’s” words pronouncing them man and wife, the 
groom, faultlessly attired, was as handsome as Margey 
was beautiful. 

The “Bishop” came forward, as the notes of the or¬ 
gan died away, clad in the sacred robes of his rank. 
His face was calm and peaceful; his voice vibrant with 
that quality, which comes from the soul. 

Addressing the bride and groom, he said, “You 
will please be seated for a few moments, as I desire to 
make a statement before proceeding with the ceremony. 


The Bishop's Confession 


217 


“It is doubtless quite unusual to interrupt a wedding 
ceremony in order that the minister in charge may 
make a personal statement, but the circumstances are 
so unusual, I feel warranted in doing so, at this time, 
rather than waiting until after the ceremony is per¬ 
formed. My reason for this course you will the better 
understand when you have heard what I have to say. 

“Last night a man came to my study and after 
being given food and money by me, claimed that he 
recognized me as an escaped convict whom he had 
guarded more than twenty years ago. He says I am 
not Roger Chapman, but a notorious bandit, known as 
Tom Sullivan. 

“You have doubtless heard these rumors, and I 
have chosen this occasion to make my answer to these 
charges. 

“The man who made them is here and I am glad, 
for I want him to hear every word I have to say. 

“I must begin my story when I was a boy ten 
years of age. My father had removed from the moun¬ 
tains of Alabama to the Ozark mountain region in 
Arkansas, traveling across the country in a covered 
wagon drawn by a yoke of oxen. 

“The family consisted of my father, mother, a 
brother and a sister besides me. My brother was six 
and my sister was four years of age. 

“My father was a hard working man, but a bad 
manager, so we were wretchedly poor. 

“My mother used to card the rolls, spin the thread, 
weave the cloth and, with her own hands, make every 
garment worn by the family. 

“She rarely retired before midnight, and a thousand 
times the hum of her spinning wheel lulled me to sleep, 
accompanied by her own voice, the sweetest, the most 


218 


The Bishop of the Ozarks 


soulful, I ever knew, singing, soft and low her favorite 
song: 

“ ‘Rock of Ages, cleft for me 
Let me hide myself in thee—’ 

“I well remember one Christmas Eve night, when 
I was eleven years old, that will illustrate our dire 
poverty. 

“My brother and sister had talked for weeks about 
Santa Claus, and what he would bring them. They 
had fed their imaginations until they felt quite sure 
one stocking would not be sufficient to hold all the toys, 
nuts and candy old Kris Kringle would bring them. 

“However, I had persuaded them that Santa never 
put presents in more than one stocking for each boy 
and girl. They retired early, as they did not want to 
keep Santa Claus waiting on top of the chimney, for 
they knew he would not dare descend until they were 
fast asleep. 

“I slept on a trundle-bed, from which I could see 
in the adjoining room, where my mother sat by a log 
fire, in a big open fireplace. 

“She was not spinning that night, for she, too, 
wanted the children to go to sleep early. 

“I knew that Santa Claus would not come down our 
chimney that night. True, I had hung up my stock¬ 
ing, alongside my brother’s and sister’s, but in my 
heart I knew they would be empty in the morning. 

“Santa Claus had nothing, absolutely nothing, for 
those stockings hanging from the crude mantel-piece 
above the great yawning fireplace. 

“I could not go to sleep. Great lumps kept rising 
in my throat, until I finally gave way to a flood of tears. 
I did not want my mother to know I was awake so I 
buried my face in my pillow and w r ept such tears of 
grief as no one but a child can shed. 


The: Bishop's Confession 


219 


“My mother did not work that night. Instead of 
working, as was her custom, she sat looking into the 
glowing coals. 

“I have thought many times I would give worlds 
to know what her thoughts were as she sat there, and 
what visions she beheld, as the flames formed fantastic 
figures. 

“Then I saw her take down her Bible and read. 
She closed it after she had read a chapter and knelt by 
her chair. Surely somewhere in God’s archives that 
prayer must be recorded, to live as long as time shall 
last! 

“When she arose from her knees, she tiptoed to 
the trundle-bed where I lay. The glow from the burn¬ 
ing logs was on her face, and through my half-opened 
eyelids I could see the tears on her cheeks. 

“She wanted to see if I was asleep, so I did not 
stir. Feeling assured that I was sleeping, she bent over 
me and pressed a kiss on my brow, ‘God bless you, 
my noble boy!’ she whispered. 

“If I am ever so fortunate as to have Jesus say, 
‘Well done, good and faithful servant,’ it will not be 
more sacred to my ears than my mother’s ‘God bless 
you!’ 

“Then I heard her go to the flour barrel where 
we kept flour when we had any, which was not often. 
It had been almost empty now for a long time; there 
was only a tiny bit which she had been saving to make 
biscuits with the next time the preacher came. 

“She scooped the last dust of flour from the barrel, 
and putting some other ingredients into it, began to 
knead the dough. She poured some home-made sor¬ 
ghum into the mixture and proceeded to fashion three 
round cakes. 

“Then I saw her pull the live coals out on the 


220 The: Bishop op the Ozarks 

hearth, put an oven on the coals and put the cakes in 
the oven. Then she placed a lid on the oven, piled the 
coals high on the lid, and sat down to wait until the 
cakes were baked. 

“I will not attempt to portray my feelings to you, 
as with breaking heart, I watched her. When the 
cakes were done, she put one in each stocking; removed 
the oven to its proper place; swept the hearth clean of 
the coals and embers, and quietly went to bed. 

“The next morning, I was the first one up; the first 
one to discover the wonderful cakes Santa Claus had 
brought us in the night, baked by his wife! With 
shouts of joy, I awoke my brother and my sister, tell¬ 
ing them it was the most desirable present a boy or a 
girl could have, and that we were especially favored by 
having Santa Claus’ wife think so much of us as to 
cook us the most wonderful cakes in the world. 

“They were perfectly satisfied with their presents 
and my mother placed her hand on my head, giving 
me a look of gratitude I would not exchange for the 
plaudits of the whole world. 

“When I was eleven, my father died and we re¬ 
turned to Alabama in the same covered wagon and 
oxen that had brought us away from there. I walked 
and drove the oxen most of the way. 

“We settled in the hill country and life continued 
the same, hard, bitter struggle. 

“My mother was the greatest soul I have ever 
known. She was fairly well educated and had a few 
good books she had preserved through all our poverty 
and shiftless wanderings. 

“She had taught me to spell, read and write and I 
had mastered every book of my mother’s. She had 
taught me to read the Bible, and to me it was the great¬ 
est book in the world. 


The: Bishop's Confession 


221 


“Before I was twelve years old, I had memorized 
and could repeat without an error, the four gospels of 
Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. 

“My mother’s greatest desire was that I should 
become a minister. Her prayer was that she should 
live to see me a bishop in the church she loved. 

“Her health began to fail, when I was fifteen, and 
the fear of her death haunted me day and night. She 
never complained, and always told me I was unneces¬ 
sarily alarmed; that God would let her live until her 
boy became a bishop. 

“When I was eighteen, a physician located in the 
community, buying a homestead near us. He was a 
foreigner; a most unusual character. He was a learned 
man, but one of mystery, and no one could find out 
anything about him. He took an interest in me, and 
grew to be very fond of my mother. 

“He would often say to me, ‘Boy you are lucky to 
have such a mother/ 

“One morning my mother was not able to leave her 
bed and I went in great alarm for the doctor. 

“I stood by, my heart in my throat, as he examined 
her. His face was very stern and set, and when he had 
completed his examination he motioned me to follow 
him. We went out into the yard and walked quite a 
distance before he spoke. Then he looked at me with 
a pity and tenderness in his eyes I had never seen 
there before. Placing his hand sympathetically on my 
shoulder, he said: ‘My boy, you must be brave, for I 
have sad news for you. Your mother cannot live a 
year unless she is operated on, and at once F 

“He explained the necessity for and the nature of 
the operation. ‘There is but one surgeon in Birming¬ 
ham whose skill I would be willing to trust in a case 
of this kind/ 


222 


The Bishop op the Ozarks 


“He told me the surgeon’s name; a household word 
in Alabama. 

“ ‘I have no money to pay for an operation !’ I said, 
in despair, ‘and no way to get it!’ 

“ ‘Perhaps if you saw him and explained the cir¬ 
cumstances he would credit you for his fee,' the dear 
old doctor said. ‘If I had the money I would let you 
have it, but I am almost as ooor as Lazarus.’ 

“The end of the matter was, that I went to Bir¬ 
mingham and saw the great surgeon. He agreed to 
operate on my mother and wait for his fee until I 
was able to pay him. 

“ ‘If you never are able to,’ he said, ‘it won’t make 
much difference to me, because I can’t take any bag¬ 
gage with me, when I cross to the other side.’ 

“He explained that it would be necessary for me 
to pay the nurse, charges for a room and other inci¬ 
dental expenses. 

“I asked, with bated breath, the probable amount 
of this expense, and when he told me, I staggered from 
the hospital, murmuring, ‘It is impossible !’ 

“As I rode home on the train that night, the wheels 
seemed to click, ‘Impossible! Impossible!’ Each mile 
increased my desperation. How could I go back and 
see my mother surely dying, day by day, all because I 
did not have and could not get a paltry sum of money! 

“My brain was in a whirl. I grew faint and sick 
as we neared the little flag-station where I would leave 
the train, to walk ten miles through the mountains to 
our humble home. 

“I began to pace up and down the aisle of the coach, 
in which I was riding. My desperation became almost 
unbearable. I walked out on to the platform of the 
rapidly moving train. For a moment, I felt the impulse 
to leap into the darkness! Then I turned to enter the 


The Bishop's Confession 


223 


coach. As I did so I saw that I had made a mistake. 
It was not the coach in which I had been riding, but a 
Pullman sleeper. I had never seen one before. The 
lights were brilliant; the furnishings luxurious. 

“For a moment, I saw a candle burning in our 
home, sitting on a table of pine boards; my mother 
plying her needle, holding the garment close to her 
eyes, so she could see the stitches. The spirit of re¬ 
bellion burned in my soul! 

“I walked a few paces down the aisle and my eyes 
rested on four well-dressed men, occupying a section of 
the sleeper. Two sat on either side of a table, on 
which was a pile of money. They were playing a game 
of cards and the money on the table represented the 
stakes. 

“When I left home, I had borrowed an old pistol 
from a neighbor, not so much because I wanted to, as 
that he advised it. 

“ ‘Birmingham is a bad place to git held up!’ he 
said. ‘You’d better take my gun along with you.’ 

“So I had the ‘gun’ in my pocket. 

“The sight of so much money, more than I had ever 
seen before in my life, was all that was needed to 
destroy all sense of right or wrong, that was left in my 
poor, distracted brain. 

“I never knew how it happened, or what I said, 
but I found myself cramming the crisp bills into my 
pocket with my left hand, while in my right, I held the 
pistgl, and four badly frightened men were holding 
their hands above their heads. 

“Then I made a rush for the platform; a wild leap 
into the darkness, and I was rolling over and over 
down a steep embankment. I finally stopped, and I 
wondered if I were badly hurt. I was afraid to try to 
get up, for fear my limbs were broken and I would be 
unable to walk. 


224 


The: Bishop of the Ozarks 


“Just then I heard a long shriek from the engine; 
the train slowed down, came to a stop, and began to 
back up. 

“Raising myself, I slowly got up and took a few 
steps to realize that I was uninjured. 

“The night was dark, there being no moon and no 
stars in sight, for a heavy cloud had risen and the rain 
was beginning to pour in torrents. 

“I ran as fast as I could, in the darkness, stum¬ 
bling over boulders and logs. 

“The train finally stopped at the place where I had 
leaped from the platform. Several men carrying lan¬ 
terns alighted and seemed to be searching on the 
ground, no doubt expecting to find my mangled form. 
They were not rewarded in this search, however, and 
in a little while they boarded the train; the whistle 
blew; the bell rang and as I climbed one of the highest 
peaks, I could see the red lights on the rear of the 
train, many miles away. 

“It took me hours to get home. My mother and 
my brother and sister were in bed and I spent the 
remainder of the night in the hay-loft so as not to 
disturb them. 

“Perhaps I am dwelling too long on these details, 
so I will hasten my story to a conclusion. I carried 
my mother to Birmingham and she was operated on; I 
paid the nurse’s bill and all incidental expenses in ad¬ 
vance. I had not told the doctor my name on my 
previous visit, and this time I gave him an assumed 
one, for I did not want to arouse suspicion, which I 
feared might be the case, if it were known that I had 
sufficient money to have my mother operated on, in a 
high-priced hospital. 

“The great surgeon performed a skillful operation, 
but it was too late! Mother regained consciousness 


The: Bishop's Confession 


225 


and passed over in full possession of her faculties. I 
shall never forget the hour of her passing! It is as 
fresh in my memory as if it had been only last night! 

.“She placed her hand on my head, as I knelt, weep¬ 
ing beside her. Her voice was calm, her spirit serene. 
I promised her that I would take up the work of the 
ministry, when I became a man. She sent loving mes¬ 
sages to my brother and my sister. 

“My heart seemed breaking, but I tried to be brave 
in the presence of the calm assurance of my mother. 

“ ‘It’s such a short journey!’ she said. ‘Just a step 
to the other side! Already the curtain has parted and 
I am granted a vision of the spirit world. I see your 
father, he beckons to me ! 

“ ‘Oh, how beautiful! How wonderful! And the 
music ! The music !’ 

“She spoke no more, but seemed to be listening in¬ 
tently. A radiant smile lighted her face and I saw a 
halo about her head, such as artists have placed about 
the head of the Christ. 

“Her breast heaved and I heard a gentle sigh. 
Then all was still. I listened for the beating of her 
heart but could not hear it. I waited—an eternity, it 
seemed to me—for her to breathe again, and then I 
cried, ‘She is dead! Oh, my God, she is dead!’ 

“I had her buried in a cemetery in Birmingham, 
under an assumed name, for I dared not take her back 
home. I bought a beautiful casket for her remains 
and she was laid away in a burial robe fit for a queen. 

“I returned home to tell my brother and sister the 
sad news. I was like a lost spirit! I could confide in 
no one, not even in the noble, old physician, but must 
bear my cross alone. 

“The excitement of the train robbery soon died 
down. Detectives had searched the mountains for a 


226 


The Bishop op the Ozarks 


few days and then the affair was forgotten. No one 
suspected me. No one, unless it was the doctor. 

“Subsequent events have made me think that he 
may have suspected me, even at that early date but 
perhaps I am mistaken. 

“Though my cross was heavy, I was yet to drink 
the hemlock even more deeply than I had done. Once 
again, the old physician told me to be brave. This time 
he said that both my brother and sister had tuberculo¬ 
sis, and unless they were removed to some place 
where they could have proper attention and nourish¬ 
ment, they would soon fall victims to the great white 
plague. 

“For days after receiving this news, I was beside 
myself—I was unsane! I did not know it then, but I 
know it now—I was diseased and needed a physician 
as badly as did my brother or my sister. 

“The disease preyed upon my mind by day and 
sank into my subconsciousness at night, as I slept. 

“I became a potential bandit—the step from the 
potential to the actual is a short one, and I took it! 

“I robbed a train in the. approved bandit style and 
made a good haul! The whole country was again 
aroused but again I was not suspected. 

“With my bandit booty, I gave my brother and sis¬ 
ter everything that money could buy in the way of 
care and skillful treatment, but all in vain! 

“Within a year, they were sleeping side by side, in 
a little valley, just below our log cabin. 

“From being unsane, I became insane, just as 
surely insane as the wildest patient in bedlam. Only 
my insanity was of a different sort. I wanted to rob 
trains, to take from the rich and give to the poor. 

“I had lost a brother and a sister from tuberculosis. 
I saw scores of victims all through our mountain coun- 


The Bishop’s Confession 


227 


try. It became an obsession with me to find some way 
to help the poor victims of the awful curse. I went 
to my old friend, the doctor, who had specialized in 
tuberculosis. His heart, also, was in the much-needed 
work of saving our mountain folks from the ravages 
of the great plague. 

“I knew his hobby was to establish a sanitarium 
for the cure of patients with pulmonary diseases. 

“I told him that I could get the money. Evidently 
he had his suspicions, for he asked me where I could 
get so much money. I laughed and told him God would 
provide it. Whatever his doubts or scruples may have 
been, he did not say me ‘nay.’ 

“I became a professional train robber and he erect¬ 
ed a sanitarium for the cure of tuberculosis. He has 
now passed to his reward and this revelation will not 
hurt him. 

“Before God called him, he had cured hundreds 
and lived to see it almost banished from his beloved 
hills. 

“When he used to tell me that he needed more 
money, he would say, ‘Don’t hurt anybody—and be 
sure you don’t get hurt, for I don’t know what these 
poor folks would do without you.’ 

“At last, of course, the inevitable happened. I 
robbed just one train too many. A remarkable coin¬ 
cidence was that the Reverend Roger Chapman was a 
passenger on that train. 

“I refused to take his money because he was a 
minister, but at my trial, he was very bitter against me. 
I was sent up for twenty years. 

“The tuberculosis sanitarium had to be abandoned 
and my beloved old physician died of a broken heart. 

“One day, I saw Mart Stoneman, the man who 
accuses me, unmercifully beating an old man. When I 


228 The Bishop of the Ozarks 

interfered, I was given a stinging blow in the face for 
my pains. In my rage, I knocked him down. For this 
he had me gagged, bound and stripped to the skin, 
and with his own hands he beat me with a leather 
thong until the blood filled my shoes. I determined to 
escape from the mines or lose my life in the attempt. 

“I did escape, securing two pistols from a guard. 

“I made my way into the wildest fastnesses of the 
mountains. On Christmas Eve night, I found myself 
chased by a pack of bloodhounds, followed by armed 
convict guards. I knew they would show me little 
mercy and I determined not to be taken alive. 

“I saw a light in a cabin, and some mysterious 
power seemed to guide me to it. I entered without 
knocking. You can not imagine my consternation 
when I faced Roger Chapman. I don’t think that he 
recognized me. I told him I was an escaped convict 
and pleaded that he allow me to hide in the loft and 
so escape my pursuers. He refused to do so, reviling 
me for being a thief, and threatening to turn me over 
to the law. 

“He seemed to become enraged and grappled with 
me. He had the strength of a madman and it was 
with great effort, I freed myself from his grasp. 

“I shall never know, perhaps, what possessed me 
to do it, but I drew one of my pistols and compelled 
him to undress. I did likewise. I donned his minis¬ 
terial suit and compelled him to put on my convict 
suit; then I fled out of the back door, as the guards 
neared the house. 

“Seeing a man in a convict suit they evidently began 
firing without even calling on him to surrender. He 
fell, pierced by a dozen bullets; then seeing that the 
man was dead, they left him weltering in his own 
blood. 


The: Bishop’s Confession 


229 


‘‘Old Simon had fled in the darkness with baby 
Margey in his arms. I heard her cry; something 
tugged at my heart-strings and pulled me back to the 
cabin. Then I called Simon. He came carrying Mar- 
gey. 

“He was horrified when he saw his master lying 
dead on the floor, but pretended, all the while, that it 
was I who had been killed. 

“After the convict suit had been removed from the 
dead minister’s body, Simon placed the little one in 
my arms. She opened her eyes, and half asleep, mur¬ 
mured, ‘daddy,’ and then went back to sleep again, a 
smile on her lips. 

“The next day we buried Roger Chapman and I, 
Alabama's most notorious train robber, conducted the 
funeral service, attired in the minister’s suit. 

“My mind turned to the Ozark mountains, the 
home of my boyhood. I felt that no one out there 
would recognize me now. For the sake of the baby, 
far more than my own, we took up our journey to the 
westward. 

“Finally, we reached our destination, the ‘Devil’s 
Den.’ There God led us to the home of the ‘Shepherd 
Woman/ and there under the influence of her sweet, 
Christian spirit, I found the way of the Master as I 
knelt at the foot of the cross. 

“The story of our twenty years in Happy Valley, 
you know; and how every one came to call me the 
‘Bishop of the Ozarks.’ 

“Then the Governor of Alabama came and wanted 
me to come back to Birmingham. I would consent 
on one condition only, and that was that I should have 
the convicts of the state to deal with, just as I thought 
best and he agreed, to my great surprise. 

“I fought a great battle with myself, but the vision 


230 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


of thousands of men, wearing the garb of dishonor 
won, and I smothered my conscience and kept up the 
old deception. 

“I need not tell you that this, to me, has been a ter¬ 
rible thorn in the flesh, and I would have made a full 
and complete confession long ago, but for the sake of 
Margey. 

“When I thought of her believing me to be her 
father; loving me with the rarest devotion I have ever 
known, I just could not do so; I was too weak, too 
cowardly! 

“Later came the call to this bishopric and this 
church. Again I fought the old battle, and again I 
weakly surrendered. 

“God knows I have suffered enough in all these 
years to atone for a multitude of sins! 

“Last night, I fought the old battle once more. As 
I did so my sainted mother stood beside me, pointing 
to Christ on the cross. ‘Surely, your shame and ig¬ 
nominy cannot compare to His/ she said. And in 
that supreme moment, I won the victory. I am now 
ready to go back to the mines and serve my unexpired 
time, and if I live until I can face the world a free 
man, I’ll go back to Happy Valley to spend my last 
days—if they want me.” 

He threw aside his bishop’s robe and stood before 
his audience in the convict’s garb, that had been 
pierced by many bullets. 

“Let the Senior Bishop proceed with the cere¬ 
mony,” he said. “I am no longer Bishop Roger Chap¬ 
man, but Tom Sullivan, notorious train robber and 
convict.” 

Doctor Burroughs had removed the drapery from 
his painting and the audience turned away from the 
man in convict stripes to gaze on the man in the 




He placed his hand on Stoneman’s head and the tramp looked up. 








The Bishop's Confession 


231 


painting, wearing the ball and chain on his ankle and 
with manacles on his wrists. 

On seeing the painting, Sullivan bowed before it, 
overcome with emotion. 

Then, slowly, there appeared the outline of a cross 
and, as the painting was turned toward the light, there 
hung the figure of the bleeding Christ. 

Most of the audience were sobbing audibly, and 
Margey, swept by a flood of love and tenderness, knelt 
beside the notorious bandit, her arms about his neck; 
her tears falling upon his face. 

The Senior Bishop took each by the hand and com¬ 
manded them to arise. As he did so, Simon entered 
on a run. "Hole on a minute!” he shouted. “I got 
sumpthin’ 'portant from de Govenah!” 

He pulled the precious scrap of paper from his 
inside pocket, and handed it to the Senior Bishop. 
Glancing at it hastily, he read : “To whom it may con¬ 
cern : This is to certify that I, as Chief Executive of 
Alabama, for good and sufficient reasons, hereby par¬ 
don Thomas Sullivan, now known as Bishop Roger 
Chapman, restoring to him full citizenship. 

“In this connection, I want to express my un¬ 
bounded faith in him. Of all the men I have ever 
known, he is the noblest, save one, and that one is an 
old negro man, Simon Gordon by name.” 

The effect was electrical! Many wept aloud, while 
others shouted, “Glory to God!” 

The Senior Bishop replaced the robe on the ex¬ 
bandit, thereby covering the convict suit. “Wear it, 
my son,” he said, “no one is more worthy of the honor 
than you.” 

Margey put her arms about the “Bishop’s” neck 
and kissed him. “You are my father,” she said, “and 
the noblest father in all the world. No one but you 
shall perform the ceremony.” 


232 


The Bishop oe the Ozarks 


Unnoticed, Mart Stoneman, the ragged tramp, had 
stolen his way around the room and was kneeling be¬ 
fore the painting of the Saviour on the cross. He was 
weeping, his head bowed low on his breast. “God be 
merciful to me, a sinner!” he whispered, not wanting 
any one in the audience to hear him. 

The new bishop, Thomas Sullivan, solemnized the 
rites of matrimony uniting, for life, Margey Chapman 
and Dr. Percy Burroughs. 

At the conclusion of the ceremony, he said, “Let 
us sing that grand old hymn, Tn the Cross of Christ I 
Glory/ ” 

The tension that held the large audience was brok¬ 
en. The great organ pealed forth the fine old hymn 
and a thousand voices sang: 

“In the cross of Christ I glory, 

Towering o'er the wrecks of time; 

All the light of sacred story 

Gathers ’round its head sublime !” 

Bishop Sullivan went over and stood by his side 
as the audience sang. He placed his hand on Stone- 
man’s head and the tramp looked up. 

As he did so a mysterious hand appeared and began 
to write beneath the foot of the cross in the painting. 
Slowly these words were formed: 

“If I be lifted up, I will draw all men unto me!” 

Bishop Sullivan pointed to the words of Jesus, and 
Mart Stoneman read with wondering eyes, the light of 
hope dawning in his face. 

“Praise God from Whom all Blessings Flow!” the 
organ boomed as the people emerged from the church 
into the glorious sunlight. 


FINIS. 

















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